


13031994

by thanku4urlove



Category: Sexy Zone
Genre: (lots of flirting but like...it's Kento), (though it's kinda more annoyances to lovers), Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Getting Together, Guns, Humor, I made up my own lore so sorry if it's confusing, I promise, M/M, Magic, Pixies, Possession, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Souls, Tattoos, Temporary Character Death, Witches, but for the /drama/ of it all ya know, non-graphic depiction of corpses, so it's not quite as dark as a lot of the tags make it sound, there's also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: Kikuchi Fuma doesn't like soulmates. He doesn't even know his own soulmate and plans on keeping it that way, burying himself in his work as a detective at his town's police precinct instead. But when a man stumbles into the precinct, claiming to have killed his wife and asking them for help, Fuma finds himself entangled in a series of homicides that involve soulmates, curses, and somehow... Him.
Relationships: Kikuchi Fuma/Nakajima Kento, Matsushima Sou/Sato Shori
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Je-united Exchange 2020





	13031994

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumomothegoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumomothegoddess/gifts).



> Hi recipient! I wasn't really sure what I could write for you, so I tried to weave fluff, angst, non-idol verse, soulmate aus, and enemies to lovers together into one fic! It's only my second time writing Sexy Zone, and the AUs are a little out there, so sorry if the characterization isn't the best. It ended up going off the rails a little bit, not gonna lie (sorry that it's so long ^^;), but I did have fun with it so I hope you enjoy it too!

“Morning.” 

Fuma pulled his eyes from his computer screen, glancing up. Sato Shori was walking into the precinct, his hair neat, dressed immaculately--though plainly--in a suit and tie. He set his stuff down on his desk, Fuma giving a sort of grunt in greeting. Shori raised an eyebrow at him, now looking at Fuma over the top of his computer screen, letting out a sigh as he began laying out his things.

“Did you sleep here?” He asked mildly. 

“What? No.” 

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” 

Fuma had to frown at him. “I brushed it this morning.” He said, running his fingers through it as though to prove a point. It didn’t quite work though; his ring finger got snagged on a tangle behind his ear, and he had to tug it free. Shori snapped his fingers without even looking up, and Fuma felt all of his hair fall flat to his head, unmussed and smooth. He shifted in his chair. It always felt weird, Shori using his magic on him. “I’ve just… Messed with it since then.” 

“You work too much.” Shori told him. There was a lilt in his voice, something Fuma was only able to recognize as playful because of how long and how closely he and Shori had worked side by side. 

“You get here at eight on the dot, every single morning, and you’re calling me a nerd?” Fuma asked. 

“I’m not saying you’re a nerd. I’m saying you need a hobby. You’re not even paid overtime, so I’m afraid of how many hours you’ve just been here this morning, working for free.” 

Fuma had heard this spiel before, about how he was overworked and lonely. He wasn’t in the mood to hear it again, and especially not from Shori. Both Shori and Marius had given it to him from the past, and while Marius would at least be a little amusing with it, Shori’s words were flat, and so accurate that they cut deep. 

“Good morning!” Came a shout. Speak of the devil. Or, rather, speak of the  _ pixie. _ Marius came striding in, a bright smile on his baby face, both arms spread wide. One hand was holding something, various papers and envelopes, Marius extending the other one to try to place it on Fuma’s head. Fuma ducked, giving the kid a glare. 

The look seemed to have no effect, Marius all but falling into the chair on his side of he and Fuma’s shared desk, his legs spread long. Though he was part pixie, that much obvious by his youthful face and the pointed ears that stuck from the curls in his hair, that side of his heritage seemed to have had no impact on his height. Marius Yo was all leg, towering over Fuma and almost all of his coworkers. 

“Good morning.” Shori greeted, giving Marius a grin. Unlike with Shori, Fuma didn’t even give Marius a grunt. 

“Here.” Marius said, throwing some papers on Fuma’s desk. They bumped his hand, a black streak of ink from the pen Fuma was holding flying across the paper he was writing on, marring all of the words in its path. Without looking up, Fuma threw the pen at Marius. It hit him square between the eyes. 

“Ouch!” Marius whined, rubbing at his forehead where Fuma had hit him. “What was that for?”

“I’m trying to work on a report.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to read your mail.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, twerp.”

“Okay, arrest me then.” 

That got Fuma to fully look up, but at his expression--another glare, but Fuma was nothing if not consistent--Marius just laughed, turning his attention to the envelopes in his hand. He knew Fuma wouldn’t arrest him, and Fuma knew he wouldn’t too. 

Fuma wasn’t going to arrest Marius because honestly, he didn’t care if the kid read his mail. Hell, it even made his job easier sometimes, Marius reading it when he didn’t want to and catching things like crime tips and important announcements from the boss. But, even if he did want to arrest Marius, Fuma knew he would have a hard time getting anything to stick. 

Marius Yo was the son of the Chief of the Metropolitan Police Department. In Fuma’s opinion, he was too young to have anything more than a convenience store job, but when a man like that drags his son in by the scruff of his neck, demands he get hired, and is given to you as an assistant by your boss… What was Fuma supposed to do, say no? 

He’d hated Marius for nearly an entire year; he had to make sure the kid stayed alive, but he didn’t have to like it. And he didn’t. Marius was annoying, and weak, and didn’t know what life felt like when everything wasn’t handed to him. Then, about six months ago on a rabid werewolf case, Marius had saved his life. One silver bullet from Fuma’s dropped gun, straight to the werewolf’s heart. As it turned out, Marius was an extremely good shot. Fuma had warmed up to him pretty well after that. 

“You’ve got a letter.” Marius said, his voice almost made teasing by the smile on his face. 

“Yeah?” Fuma asked. He looked up, and sure enough, Marius was grinning, face alight with mischief. “What? Why are you smiling like that? Stop it.”

“It’s a letter… Of gratitude.” Marius finally elaborated, and Fuma let his head fall back with a sigh. 

“Throw it out.” He insisted, but Marius did the exact opposite, ripping the envelope open. Shori sat forward in interest. Fuma pretended not to see him. 

“It’s from…” Marius’s eyes scanned the page. “Oh! That vampire lady. You saved her son, remember?”

After a moment of thinking, Fuma did remember. A kidnapping case, a woman’s son going missing. He’d poured his time and effort into that case, not sleeping for nearly two weeks. He didn’t know why he was the only one getting a letter, though; Marius and Shori had done the exact same thing, with the same amount of effort. 

“She’s grateful, she’s happy, she’s grateful again, she…” Marius’s eyes went wide. “She’s  _ very  _ grateful. She wants to take you to dinner.” 

Shori began to laugh, and Fuma groaned. 

“Just throw it out.” He said again. 

“Really?” Marius asked, his voice teasing, waving the letter in Fuma’s face. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Cold and immortal isn’t your type?”

“Something like that.”

“Come on!” Marius was absolutely delighted. “We still have her phone number on file, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I--”

Shori held up a hand, effectively cutting Marius off. His expression was serious, and he was looking towards the door. A frown already on his face, Fuma followed his line of sight, getting to his feet as soon as he saw what Shori was looking at. 

A man had stumbled in. He looked human, dressed in a simple jacket and jeans, but his eyes held a desperate, unfocused look, bloodshot with what looked like tears. His entire face was red. A trance? Hypnosis? Possession?

Marius stood too. “Sir?” He called out, and at his voice, the man stopped walking. He looked up, meeting Fuma’s eyes. 

“I need someone to arrest me.” The man said, his voice choked and raw, holding out his arms in offering. That got Shori on his feet too; Fuma could tell from his peripherals that half of the room was standing, everyone looking at the stranger. 

“Why?” Fuma asked back, after a moment when no one else spoke. 

“I just killed my wife.”

  
  


As far as dramatic entrances went, in his entire career as a detective, Fuma had to put that man walking in at first place. Fuma came forwards slowly with handcuffs, feeling wary, but the man let Fuma lock them on him without protest. It took a long time for the man to get calm and focused enough to talk to them, and once his story was told, Fuma let out a breath, sitting back in his chair. He didn't think the man had actually done anything wrong. 

He focused completely on talking to Fuma, barely seeming to notice the other detectives and uniformed officers, so Fuma asked the questions, Marius recording everything, Shori writing things down. Once they'd heard it all, they handed the man over--telling the officers to not touch him, or let him touch anyone else--and made their way to his apartment, contacting their superior officer as they did to get the scene photographed, knowing they would find a dead body there. 

The man was a night shift worker. His travel home had been completely normal, he'd said, except for noticing a streak of black on his forearm when he extended his arm to unlock his door. His wife had greeted him when he walked in, but when he'd pulled back from kissing her, her lips and the place where he'd touched her cheek had been a deep red color. She'd been acting fine, he said, until he saw black, vein-like lines crawling up her neck. When the lines reached her eyes, her eyes rolled back, and she'd collapsed. She hadn't gotten back up. 

"What, a curse?" Marius asked, as they got in the car to drive to the man's apartment. 

“That’s what makes the most sense. I mean, right?” Fuma turned to Shori, who nodded thoughtfully.

“Man comes in contact with something on his way home, too tired to notice it, and ends up killing someone he touches.”

“But it wasn’t to hurt him specifically.” Fuma said. “So far, he hasn’t shown any signs of physical harm.” 

“Fuma, his wife is dead. I think this is hurting him a great deal.” Shori contended, and Fuma didn’t have a response for that. 

The house was unlocked when they arrived, letting themselves in. The first thing Fuma saw was the woman in question, lying on her back on the floor. She was dressed in a mismatched set of pajamas, looking slightly rumpled. Crawling up under the neckhole of her shirt was the mess black lines the man had mentioned, traveling up her neck, up her face, and into her still-open eyes. The blackness wasn’t quite so dark under her skin, looking more like heavily diluted watercolor paint, and diffusing out slightly, the lines not so clear as Fuma could visualize them being.

The other mark that the man had told them about however, the red marks he’d left on his wife’s skin, seemed to have gotten deeper in color. They weren’t bright red, but dark and dull like clotted blood. The sounds of an engine behind them through the open door alerted Fuma of the presence of the forensic photography team, and he pulled his eyes off of the woman to begin surveying the rest of the room. 

The house was clean but obviously lived in, a cold plate of food on the counter, the coffee maker still turned on. The sink was half full of dishes sitting in soapy water, the open washing machine serving as a drying rack. The woman looked to have been in the middle of doing dishes after preparing a meal for her husband when the man had come home. There was no sign of violent activity anywhere; this was the most domestic crime scene Fuma had ever come across.

“Okay, so we know that they’re married.” Marius spoke up, coming over to stand by Fuma while the other crime scene investigators and photographers began entering the house. “But do we know if they were soulmates or not? I was too distracted to look at his arm.”

“I don’t know.” Fuma said. The woman’s left forearm wasn’t visible either, covered by a long sleeve, but Fuma didn’t want to disturb anything until pictures were taken. 

“They were.” Shori said, and his voice was so sure that Fuma looked over at him. Shori had already pulled a pair of gloves on, and was holding a picture in a frame. Fuma walked over, Marius trailing behind him. In the photo were the man and the woman, both beaming, each holding their left arms out. The insides of their forearms were pointed at the camera to show off their soul marks.

Each person was born with three eight digit numbers on their body. The first number, on the inside of the wrist, was the date their soulmate was born: day, month, then year. The middle number, in the middle of the forearm, was the day they would meet their soulmate. The last number, right below the crook of the elbow, was the day their soulmate was to die. In the photo, the man and the woman had matching middle numbers. Most likely, if the birthdates were correct as well, then they were destined to be together. It was the last number on the man’s arm that made Fuma frown, and he pointed to it.

“That isn’t today’s date.” He said. “She wasn’t supposed to die today.” 

There wasn’t supposed to be a single source on earth that could kill a soul before their destined date. There wasn’t a single source, either, that could bring a soul back after their date had passed. They stood there, frowning at the picture for a minute, before Marius spoke up. His voice was hesitant.

“Are, like… Are we sure she’s dead?” 

That had the three of them rushing back to the body, Shori pressing his fingers to her neck. 

“No pulse.” He reported after a moment. “No breathing. If she’s actually human, like she appears to be, then she’s dead.” 

After doing another sweep of the house, the three of them started back to the station. Fuma wanted to question the man more thoroughly, already trying to piece some things together, despite his lack of information. He didn’t want to waste time on any wrong assumptions. 

“So a man gets hit with a curse that causes him to kill the next person he touches.” Marius said. “And it’s so strong that it surpasses the strength of soulmate marks.”

“It might be the strength of the caster, not the strength of the spell. And it’s probably an experimental sort of curse, if the mark it left doesn’t have a distinct shape.” Fuma added. “He described it as a ‘smudge’, right?” They would have to get a look at it themselves, but curses that left traces usually formed themselves into a recognizable pattern. Unstable curses and spells wouldn’t do that, making them harder to identify.

“We don’t know if she was the next person he touched, because we don’t know when he was cursed.” Shori pointed out. “It could have killed her because she was his soulmate. It may be a soulmate-only curse.” 

Fuma felt something in his gut twist at that. He hated soulmate related cases. And Shori knew it, glancing at Fuma with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m fine.” He said. “Shut up.” 

Shori didn’t push the issue, and Marius knew better than to ask about it, so the rest of the ride was made in silence. 

Fuma didn’t just dislike soulmate cases. He didn’t like the idea of soulmates entirely, the feeling growing stronger the older he got. And not because he didn’t have a soulmate, or didn’t like his soulmate. He’d never known his soulmate, and was planning on keeping it that way.

When Fuma was younger, his mother would always get a sad look on her face when she saw his arm, and it made him sad too, so he didn’t like it. When he had grown old enough to be able to calculate it, he’d done the math, working out when his soulmate was born and how old they would be when they died. Twenty-five years had felt like a long time when he was seven, so he hadn’t thought too much about it. 

Middle school was when all of his friends and classmates started talking about soulmates, and some started meeting their soulmates, and Fuma found out that compared to everyone else, with their soulmates living long into the future, that twenty-five years was not a lot of years at all. The sympathy he would get from surrounding adults became so much that Fuma couldn’t stand it, beginning to wear exclusively long sleeves. It was just better that way. His mother wouldn’t be sad, and his teachers wouldn’t give him that awful look, and he didn’t have to think about it anymore. None of his coworkers knew what his soul marks said, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them. This year, his soulmate was twenty-five. In just two weeks time, his soulmate was supposed to die. Soulmates were the last thing Fuma wanted to think about.

Instead, Fuma distracted himself with the mental checklist of things he needed to look for that could complicate the case. Was anyone involved a beast, fae, or magic user? Were there any signs or possession? Were there any sigils present at the crime’s location, on the corporeal form of the victim, or the corporeal form of anyone else present, either for decorative or protective purposes?

Due to the potential the job had of becoming dangerous, and since Fuma was only human with no magical abilities to protect himself, he had a lot of protective sigils tattooed onto his body. He couldn’t be possessed—by any demonic entity, or otherwise—could not have his mind taken over, and could not be controlled or injured by any long distant curses, like voodoo dolls. The symbols couldn’t completely stop him from getting hurt, but did lessen the effects of any harmful magic that was thrown at him. They were etched mostly across his back and shoulders, deep marks that had been very painful to get, but had proven very useful. 

Questioning the man again didn’t render much new information, but they were able to get photographs of both his soul marks and the curse mark on his arms. He answered all of their questions in a flat voice, his eyes blank, and when they were leaving him Marius glanced back. 

“We might need to station someone with him just to make sure he doesn’t kill himself.” 

Fuma began listening to the recordings of this questioning session, as well as the recording Marius took when the man first walked in, looking for inconsistencies in his story. He was almost finished when Shori leaned over his desk, hitting his arm.

“What?” Fuma asked, feeling peeved by the interruption, but his expression didn’t seem to affect Shori in the slightest. 

“Last month. The woman that died after her soulmate touched her; do you remember? Her death was deemed accidental because she was a witch, but… I mean, I might be misremembering, but it seemed similar to this, didn’t it?” 

Shori had barely finished before Fuma was back at his computer, searching for the case to read through the details. When he did he cursed, writing down the phone number of the deceased’s then-girlfriend and all but throwing it at Marius. 

“Call her. We need to set up an interview with her.” 

By the end of the day, Fuma and Shori had managed to find two other cases that were similar to the one they were dealing with, both of them under their radar due to being in different districts. One case was nearly across the entire country, the other just two cities away. 

“It’s like they’re getting closer.” Shori said. “This man, in our case… He only lived three train stops away from the police station.” 

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Fuma told him. They sent emails to the precincts that had dealt with the other two cases, requesting their information, and Shori declared himself done for the day. 

“Well, this has all been horrible.” He declared, getting to his feet and shrugging his coat on. “I’m going home and hugging my fiance. See you all tomorrow.” 

Despite his tone, his resolve seemed to strengthen just a bit by the mention of his fiance, his posture a bit straighter as he walked out. Shori had met his soulmate--a young man named Matsushima Sou--just six months ago, but they had already moved into a house together and gotten engaged. While Marius insisted that it was sweet, it had felt incredibly fast to Fuma. Maybe it was different, though, to fall in love when the entire force of the universe was involved.

Marius left soon after, and once they were gone Fuma decided to go too, not keen on picking through all of this soulmate stuff longer than he had to. 

The autopsy report for the deceased woman told them that it was a curse that had killed her. They still couldn’t trace what type of curse it was, but an interview with the woman from the similar case in their district a day later confirmed Shori’s theory that it was soulmate exclusive. 

“Oh, yeah, I got the black mark on my hand at the beginning of my work shift that day.” She said. “I’m a server; I was accidentally touching people all day. Nothing happened until I got home and touched her.”

The confirmation of the soulmate link put Fuma in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and he had a hard time being productive. The four cases were so similar that it was hard to deny the same perpetrator was performing the curses; if that proved to be true, then they had a soulmate serial killer on their hands. It wasn’t until the next day, looking over the case photos for what already felt like the fiftieth time, when Fuma noticed something. 

“Hey.” He hit Marius with the photos to get his assistant’s attention, shoving the picture he’d been examining under his nose. “Does this look like a fingerprint to you?” 

Marius frowned, turned all the way around in his seat to look at what Fuma was holding. It was a photo of the man’s black curse mark, a smudge on his skin. It looked, to Fuma, like someone had dipped their finger in black paint and touched it to the man’s arm, letting the motion of him walking by smear it, round on one end and tapering off. 

“I mean, maybe?” Marius said after a moment. “It definitely could be. If it is, then he more than likely was touched by someone he passed by on his way home, right? At some point when his arm was exposed.” 

Fuma nodded along to Marius’s words, and Marius caught the motion, letting his head fall back and groaning.

“No.” He said.

“Yes.” 

“No!” 

“What?” Shori asked. 

“We’re combing through security camera footage.” Marius said with a long sigh. 

“We’re combing through security camera footage.” Fuma confirmed. Shori, looking completely unamused, just turned back to his computer screen. 

It was truly tedious work. They would have to keep note of every person that brushed past their guy, then watch footage from the three similar cases, and see if any of them matched, accounting for differences in clothing, hair, makeup, and accessories like hats or shoes that altered height. At the end of the day, none of them had a match; in the middle of the second day of looking Marius leaned back in his seat with a groan that had Fuma wondering if his soul was still in his body. 

“I give up!” He declared, letting his eyes fall closed as he flung his arms into the air. “I give up. This is useless, and pointless, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“Shut up.” Fuma told him, but Marius didn’t, sitting up forward instead and looking Fuma straight in the eye, something that took some talent because Fuma was pointedly trying not to look at Marius. He knew Marius’s complaining was justified, and was feeling frustrated himself, and didn’t want to admit it. But Marius was well practiced in getting Fuma’s attention when Fuma was ignoring him, and would not be disregarded. 

“You know I’m right!” He said. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t look at security footage. I think we might be able to find some good suspects this way. But I don’t think we have the ability or the resources to do this ourselves, that’s all.”

Fuma sent a look in Shori’s direction, horrified to see his partner was smiling. 

“Oh,  _ no.”  _ He said. It was Shori's smile, more than Marius’s words, that made him realize what his assistant was implying. Marius wanted to call in a certain someone to help them, and Fuma would be damned before he let that happen. “Hell no. No. We’re not asking him for help. I am not asking  _ him  _ for help.” 

“We grant him clemency. He comes in, and uses his fancy technology that the government is too cheap to give us to use, and he finds our witch.”

“If we grant him clemency, then we’ll have to let him go.” Fuma countered. “If he walks through these doors, it will because we’re putting him away.”

“We’ll only have to wait until he breaks the law again, and that’ll take no time.” Marius said. “Come on, Fuma. It’s always fun when he’s in the office.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“It  _ so  _ is.” 

“Fuma, he has the technology to do this.” Shori said. His voice wasn’t like Marius’s exaggerated, joking tone; he was being serious. “Technology that only he has, because he programmed it himself. If he really can get eyes on who did this, that information would be invaluable.”

Fuma let out a long breath. He already knew Shori--and Marius, but hell if he was giving Marius credit--was right, he just didn’t want them to be.

“We’re trying to catch a serial killer.” Shori said, and that was the nail in the coffin. 

“Fine!” He exclaimed, throwing the pen in his hand at Marius, which Shori sent flying in a harmless direction with a flick of his fingers. Both of his coworkers knew that a frustrated exclamation from him was as good as explicit agreement. “But one of you is calling him, and one of you is getting the permission for the clemency from the higher ups. I am not going to claim any accountability for this idea.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Marius wheedled. “You know you want to see him.” 

“Last time I saw him, I told him that next time we talked to each other, I would be putting him in handcuffs.” 

“Okay, well, next time don’t suck so much at your job.” Shori said airily, getting to his feet, picking his scarf up and letting it wind its way around his neck with a wave of his hand. Fuma glared at him, while Marius nearly fell out of his chair in laughter. 

Shori got permission to put their idea in motion, much to Fuma’s chagrin, and Marius picked up the phone to get into contact with Nakajima Kento.

Nakajima Kento was someone that the entire precinct knew by name. He’d had run-ins with every single one of their officers, but for some godforsaken reason, whenever he came in, he liked to make himself Fuma’s problem. He was annoying, flirty and unprofessional, and the fact that no one had never actually been able to pin a crime on him specifically made Fuma furious, his irritation only increased by the way that no one else really seemed to care. Sure, Kento wasn’t dangerous, but he was always up to something illegal, and they all knew it, but nobody could actually prove it.

Kento wasn’t trying to hide his criminal activity, either; he advertised it, easily found if one knew where to look. He ran an online business called “Missed Your Mate”, a service where, if on the day someone was supposed to meet their soulmate, they’d come into contact with multiple people and didn’t know who they were looking for. He could hunt down and identify a list of people that they’d touched that day to help them find their match. Kento accomplished it by hacking into the various security cameras around the country and using the most advanced facial recognition software Fuma had ever encountered. Software that Kento had invented himself. 

It was a highly illegal and extreme invasion of privacy. Kento used his computer to follow people around, figure out their names and places of work, and then would hand that information over to a stranger. Sure, they were usually soulmates and they usually fell in love and they usually thanked him for it later, but it still made Fuma’s blood boil. Making it all worse was that, from what Fuma could tell, Kento was making an incredible amount of money doing it. 

Kento had never confessed that the person behind the business was him, and they didn’t have any digital evidence they could use to pin any of it on him, all of the hacking done extremely cleanly. But enough hints had been dropped during their conversations to make it obvious. Fuma knew that the mind behind “Missed Your Mate” was Kento, and Kento knew that he knew it, and Kento waltzed into the precinct the next day with his laptop bag over his shoulder and a huge smile on his face. 

Fuma didn’t know if Kento had happened to spot him upon walking in or already knew where his desk was, because Kento’s eyes met his immediately, his smile getting a little bit bigger, and walked over. 

Fuma pulled his eyes back to his computer screen, not looking up when Kento came to a stop in front of him, not even looking up when Kento spoke. 

“I was promised a pretty piece of jewelry from you next time we saw each other.” 

“What?” Fuma asked, frowning. The smile in Kento’s voice was audible; Fuma didn’t need to look to know it was there, but he did anyway. 

“Those matching silver bracelets on your waistband. I thought they were for me.” Kento glanced down at the handcuffs Fuma kept on his belt, winking as he did. Fuma couldn’t decide what annoyed him the most: the complete disrespect at calling handcuffs “bracelets”, the way Kento was mocking his inability to arrest him, or the wink Kento had just directed at everything on and around his hips. Maybe it was the teasing smile Kento had on his face, and how, frustratingly, it looked really, really good on him. 

“Stop doing that with your face.” Fuma told him. Kento raised his eyebrows, his mouth opening in amusement, his smile turning into something less flirtatious and more genuine. 

“What, smiling?” He asked, laughing. “Stop smiling? You know, it takes less muscles to smile than it does to do…” He gestured with one hand in Fuma’s direction, using a circular motion to indicate Fuma’s entire body. “...whatever grumpiness act that you have going on.” 

“Yes, but Detective Kikuchi likes to feel like a muscular man.” Shori cut in, walking up. Marius, who had been watching the entire exchange since Kento walked in with close attention, nearly fell out of his chair in laughter as Fuma shot a glare in Shori’s direction. Shori, however, wasn’t paying him any attention, bowing to Kento. 

“I’m Detective Sato Shori. Thank you so much for agreeing to assist us on this case.” 

“My pleasure! I love seeing my friends at the precinct.” 

“We love seeing you too.” Marius chimed in, getting a scowl from Fuma and a blindingly bright smile from Kento. 

“Where can I set up my stuff?” Kento asked, gesturing to his computer bag. Marius was on his feet immediately. 

“Here, use my desk.” He offered, and Fuma resisted the urge to get to his feet as well. Because he and Marius shared a desk. And if he had to share a desk with Kento for the next couple of hours, he felt he might lose his mind. He half-rose from his chair, but Shori shot him a look, and his chair shot forwards and hit him in the back of the knees, forcing him to sit back down. Kento opened up his laptop, tapping away for a couple of moments. Then he looked around the screen at Fuma, another smile playing on his lips.

“Fill me in, would you please, Mister Detective?” 

Fuma glanced at Shori, preferring he do it, but Shori didn’t even look up from the papers on his desk.

“Come on Fuma, he asked so nicely.” He said, Marius breaking out into laughter again--he was now sitting at the end of Shori’s desk--and Fuma let out a frustrated breath. 

“We’re looking for a witch.” He began. “And we have reason to believe that this witch is using a curse that has caused four people now to kill their soulmate.” 

At the mention of the deaths, Kento’s expression sobered up considerably, listening to Fuma with genuine attention. 

“To inflict this curse, the witch has to touch their victims. We know nothing about the height, weight, gender, or color of the perpetrator, but we do have approximate time frames for when this could have happened for three of the cases, and for one of them we have a definite location.”

“So you want me to follow these victims with the cameras, and find one person that’s the same in all of the locations that was close enough to touch them.” Kento said, sitting back in his chair. “That’s it? I thought calling me in meant that it was going to be a challenge, if the people here couldn’t do it.”

“It isn’t that we couldn’t do it.” Fuma retorted. “We’re putting our energy into other important parts of the case.”

“Nah, I know what I’m worth. Clemency isn’t cheap.” Kento winked again. Kento needed to stop winking at him. “But hey, you can say you could do it if you want to. I’ll just take that to mean that you wanted to see me.” 

“The first two people we want you to look at are this man and this woman.” Fuma decided to gloss over Kento’s comment, though it was hard work not to clench his jaw. “He was touched while on his commute home, and she was touched while at work. Here are their files, with the locations and times you need to search. If you have any questions, don’t bother me.” 

“Don’t worry, I will.” 

Despite that promise, once Kento got started, he was surprisingly quiet. He was very serious, focused, his eyes on his screen and his hands on his keyboard, his bottom lip occasionally trapped between his teeth. He didn’t talk, or hum, or tap, or make other sounds or movements that could have been distracting. However, after nearly two hours of Fuma trying to get work done and failing, he was coming to terms with a rather frustrating realization. Kento was distracting anyway. 

Fuma didn’t know why. He didn’t know what it was. Just existing was all Kento needed to do to get Fuma’s attention, and it was incredibly annoying. Probably because of how much he wanted to arrest him, Fuma decided. He was a detective. He was supposed to uphold the law. Maybe Shori and Marius could do it, but he couldn’t just sit there and be okay with a criminal sitting across from him. That had to be it. 

“Aren’t you done yet?” He finally snapped, just to get Kento’s eyes off his laptop and back on him. Thankfully, that was exactly what happened. 

“It’s been two hours.”

“And? I thought this was supposed to be easy for you.” 

“I have a lot of footage to sift through. The program isn’t immediate.” Kento rolled his eyes, then returned them back to his computer screen. “I’m working as quickly as I can.” 

“Good.” 

“Though, I might want to slow down, since my presence seems to have such an effect on you.” 

Fuma decided it might be best not to respond to that. 

Despite his focus, Kento was still tapping away at his computer by the time people were beginning to leave, Shori getting to his feet and meeting eyes with Fuma. 

“How much longer do you expect this to take?” He asked Kento. Kento didn’t look up. 

“About twelve hours.”

“So, do you want to come back tomorrow?”

Kento looked like he had no intention of moving, but his answer still caught Fuma by surprise. 

“I was planning on working on this until it was done.” He glanced up, looking between Shori and Fuma. “No matter how long it’ll take; that’s what I usually do.”

“We can’t leave you in the precinct alone—” Shori began, but Kento was nodding already, attention back on his laptop. 

“He’ll stay with me.” He declared, pointing at Fuma without looking up. Fuma opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say—offering to stay and keep an eye on Kento had been the first thought in his mind. As if knowing this, Kento shot a look at him, a grin on his face. “I mean, that's what you were about to say, wasn’t it?” 

“I--only because I don’t trust you.” Fuma insisted, feeling flustered. 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want me stealing all of the keyboards from the police station. Not that thievery is really my style, but I’d do it if it would annoy you.” 

After some goodbyes, goodnights, and Marius trying to make Fuma promise not to arrest, or maybe murder Kento--a promise Fuma vehemently refused to make--Shori and Marius were the last two out the door. 

Fuma tried to busy himself with work as Kento was again immersed in his computer program, and it actually worked a little. He’d almost finished putting a profile together for the first attacked soulmate pair when Kento’s voice distracted him. 

“What do you like from the convenience store?”

“...what?”

“Food?” Kento had his eyebrows raised. “Like, that stuff people eat? Anything you like?”

“Why do you want to know?” Fuma asked cagily. Kento heaved an extremely dramatic sigh, getting to his feet and stretching his arms up over his head. Kento had on a form-fitting black shirt under a heavy coat, and upon lifting his arms, the shirt rode up his torso, exposing a small stretch of pale skin. Fuma couldn’t even gather his wits quickly enough to decide not to look. 

“I want to eat dinner.” Kento said. Then he gestured to his computer. “But the program needs to stay open. You won’t leave me here alone, and I don’t want to leave my computer here alone. So, I was thinking I could go to the Family Mart down the street and get some food, and you could watch my laptop for me.”

“How do I know you won’t run off?” 

“Why would I run off? I’m a free, innocent man. Besides,” Kento crossed his arms. “Do you really think I’d just leave my computer here?” 

He had a point, Fuma hated to admit. And he was hungry. 

“Okay. Sure. Good idea.” 

“Did you just--” Kento leaned back in obviously overacted shock, his hand over his mouth, his eyes comically wide. “Did you just compliment me?” 

“No. Shut up. I made a comment.”

“Did like… Did that hurt you? Do you need an ice pack or something?”

“Are you going to leave?” 

Kento laughed a big, open, happy laugh that made something seize up in Fuma’s chest.

“Okay, okay. I’m going now. But, seriously…” He looked actually concerned for a moment. “You can look at the screen, but don’t touch anything.”

“I don’t want to touch any of your stuff.”

“Oh, don’t be mean. Of course you do.”

With a blown kiss, Kento was gone before Fuma could find some way to retaliate, and Fuma was made to sit there in silence. The reality of the situation hadn’t begun sinking in until that exact moment; he was staying up all night in the precinct with Nakajima Kento. 

He took advantage of his moment alone, getting up to take a look at Kento’s computer. The screen was split into seventeen sections, two-thirds of it a square of sixteen different security camera feeds, from different angles and different locations. The last section was a running stream of code that Fuma could only assume was the facial recognition technology they’d come to Kento for. It looked incredibly complicated, and looking at all the screens for the short moments that Fuma did nearly made his head hurt. 

Kento returned roughly twenty minutes later with a bag of stuff, setting it down on Shori’s desk. Something made a rather heavy clunk. Kento pulled out two plastic-wrapped containers. 

“Where’s the microwave in this place?” 

They ate together at Shori’s desk, neither of them wanting to move their stuff, but equally worried about getting food on something important.

“How old is that kid?” Kento asked. 

“What kid?” 

“The tall pixie kid… Marius Yo, I think? He looks like a baby.”

“Oh, he is a baby.” 

Kento laughed. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“That’s fine.” Fuma shrugged. “I’ve told him a bunch of times.” 

Kento looked over him for a couple of moments.

“So that’s just your thing, huh?”

“What?” 

“Being rude to people for no reason.” 

The words caught Fuma off guard. 

“I… I’m not--I don’t hate him or anything. He’s saved my life, actually, and I’d do the same thing for him. He’s a good kid.” 

“But he’s a baby?”

“Oh yeah. A huge baby.” 

Kento burst out laughing again, the sound making Fuma smile a little as he looked down at his food, picking through it with his chopsticks. They spent about an hour at Shori’s desk, not talking much, eating, Fuma usually with his phone in his hand. When they’d finished, Kento cracked open some coffee he’d bought himself and got back to work. Fuma tried to get back to work too, but once he’d finished compiling all the information he had on the fourth and final victim, he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything else. He ended up slumped forward on his desk, his head on his crossed arms and looking up at Kento, at the way his face was lit up by his computer screen, the slight changes in his expression as he worked. 

“Are you going to say something, or are you just going to stare at me?” Kento finally asked. “I mean, I know I’m gorgeous, but you’re being more obvious than I’m used to.” 

“I’m not staring at you.” That was a lie, and both of them knew it, but Kento didn’t call him on it. “What made you start all of this hacking stuff, anyway?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Drop the pretense.” Fuma glanced at the clock on the wall. It was later than he expected; no wonder he was so tired. “It’s after midnight. Pretense doesn’t exist.” 

That made Kento laugh a little, and he sighed, sitting back in his chair and meeting Fuma’s gaze.

“It makes people happy.” Kento finally said. “Finding love. It… It’s amazing how in love these people are. How happy they are in just… Every way.”

The sincerity was surprising, and Kento noticed his expression, raising an eyebrow. 

“What, did you think I was going to say money?” 

“A little, yeah.”

“Is that why you hate it so much? What I do?” 

“I mean, kind of.” Fuma sighed, drawing himself up a bit. “It’s not like I don’t want people to find love, but I’m not a huge fan of the way you do it. Besides, I can’t believe that’s all there is.”

There had always been something, while talking to Kento, something that gave Fuma pause, that made him give Kento a closer look. It was in his face, in his posture, in the way his smile didn’t always meet his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s not like…” Fuma didn’t really have the words for it, or a way to explain what to say. “Just a feeling, I guess. That you’re doing it for some personal reason too. Personal gain.” 

“Well, Detective Kikuchi, I’m glad you’re a part of the police force.” Kento said with a sigh, his eyes on his computer screen. 

“What?”

“Your intuition is rather incredible.” 

It took a moment for the confession to register, Fuma looking at him. 

“Wait, seriously?” Kento didn’t look back; didn’t even act as though he’d heard Fuma’s question. “Are you looking for your soulmate or something? This fancy program, and you haven’t found them yet?”

“Have you found yours?”

The question almost stung, Fuma quickly counting time in his head. His soulmate only had two days left. 

“I asked you first. Answer.” 

“Kikuchi Fuma.” Kento met his eyes, his expression one that Fuma had only ever seen on his own face. “You always wear long sleeves, even in the summer. Any time you reach with your left hand, your right hand goes to tug your sleeve down, and it’s so second nature that not only do you not notice it, but nobody in this room ever reacts to how weird it is. Don’t ask me about my soulmate, and I won’t ask you about yours.”

Kento’s focus went back to his computer and Fuma, feeling badly for having obviously just stricken a particularly painful nerve, sat at his desk in silence. 

They chatted a bit more, Kento lightening the mood by making jokes at Fuma’s expense, but Fuma couldn’t find it in himself to be too bothered or annoyed. It had Kento smiling at him, which he didn’t mind admitting to himself was a nice sight, but that admittance might have been simply because it was nearly three in the morning. He tried to stay upright, tried to stay awake—he should be able to do this, he told himself, he’d pulled plenty of all-nighters before—but where Kento had drunken some coffee, he hadn’t. He didn’t remember resting his head on his arms, which he’d laid crossed on his desk top. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. 

He woke to sunlight streaming through the windows of the precinct. If not for the change of light, Fuma might not have thought much time had passed; Kento was still there, sitting in front of his open computer. His hair was a bit mussed and his eyes were tired, and Fuma watched him for a moment. 

“Morning.” Kento said, without glancing over. Maybe he could feel Fuma looking. “Isn’t part of your job to like… Follow bad guys around without them seeing you?”

“I…” Fuma’s sleep-addled brain was having a hard time understanding the question. “What?” 

“You’re really bad at staring at people without making it obvious.”

“Maybe I wanted to make it obvious.” 

Kento didn’t have a response for that, except a bit of a smile, Fuma glancing around the precinct in an attempt to wake himself up. It was obviously very early in the morning, the place still empty save for the two of them, Fuma about to sit up when he noticed something. 

He was wearing Kento’s jacket. Not fully—his arms weren’t through the sleeves—but it had been draped over his back and shoulders while he’d been sleeping. The gesture was unexpected, Fuma having to fight against the blush rising on his face; a fight he completely lost when he glanced at his hands in his embarrassment and noticed something else.

There were black marks all over the backs of his hands. Fuma sat straight up, worried for a moment, scared that somehow, at some point in his sleep he’d been cursed—did Kento even know magic? They were dark enough to be curse marks. But then he stopped, took a longer look, and let out a breath. He looked over at Kento, who had both of his hands clapped over his mouth, but it was obvious by his eyes that behind his hands he was smiling, and with the way his body was almost quivering, he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

“It’s kind of your fault, for not waking up.” Kento told him. “I seriously thought you would. Not very vigilant.”

Fuma looked down at his hands again. Kento had drawn on him in marker. His left hand had a big grumpy face in the middle of it, with tiny stars and sound effect words drawn around it, “Detective” going across his fingers. His right hand had a giant heart on the back, completely blacked out, as well as some wide staring eyes on his thumb. This hand had tiny things like stars and dots as well, and Fuma didn’t know what to make of any of it, giving Kento another look. 

“It was five in the morning!” Kento was on the defensive, though he also couldn’t stop smiling while he spoke. “The program didn’t need any more input, and it was just scanning. I was trying not to fall asleep. What else was I supposed to do?”

Fuma didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to take in the jacket over his shoulder and the scribbles on his hands and the playful way that Kento was smiling at him. It made something in his chest feel tight and soft and warm all over, but not so warm that he wanted to take the coat off. The coat was comfortable, and it smelled nice, and Fuma was already trying to brainstorm ways of secretly keeping it as he got to his feet. 

The marker looked permanent, so Fuma got some hand sanitizer and rubbed it into the back of his hands, rinsing it off. It didn’t work perfectly, but it worked well enough; Fuma knew that Shori would be able to erase it completely with magic, but the embarrassment involved in asking him--and having to explain how the marker had gotten there--wouldn’t be worth it. 

“How’s it going?” Fuma asked as he started back to his desk. Kento was in the middle of drinking from a juice box, his pink lips bunched around the small straw, his eyes going a bit big and his eyebrows raising when Fuma addressed him. 

Fuma was trying. He was trying not to stare at Kento. Kento just didn’t like making it easy. 

“Almost done. I’d say two more hours? Hour and a half, if we’re lucky?” He pointed at his screen, Fuma walking around behind his chair to get a look. “It was good that the four instances happened in such different locations; that made finding the same people in all four places a rare occurrence. I did have to rule out some look-alikes individually, and while that took some time, it wasn’t too hard. I think I have our witch, though.”

“Wait, you do?” The computer screen wasn’t telling Fuma anything he could understand, leaning back to look at Kento. 

“Probably.” Kento worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’m not completely sure, but if you pressed me into giving you someone now—and you can press up against me all you want—” Kento turned to his computer and made a few clicks while Fuma tried hard not to splutter, going to an image file and enlarging it to a slightly pixelated size— “It would be her.” 

The person was female in appearance, and looked near-human—her limbs, neck, and fingers looked a little too long and thin for her to be completely human. She looked middle-aged, dark hair falling long past her waist. 

“What do you know about her?” Fuma asked. 

“That’s the problem. Not a whole lot yet. That’s what I need the two more hours for.” 

Fuma nodded a bit. “Do, uh… Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?”

Kento gave him a dazzling grin and an exaggerated batting of his eyelashes. 

“Trying to woo me with more cheap convenience store food?” He asked, and Fuma laughed a bit. 

“That was the idea. I can go pick something up.” 

That had Kento gasping, the motion heavily exaggerated. 

“Me? In the precinct alone?”

Fuma genuinely didn’t think Kento would do anything—he had all night to try if he’d wanted to—but mostly it was cold outside, and if Kento went out to get food he would want his coat back. His warm, lovely smelling coat that Fuma very much wanted to keep wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Sure; you’re busy. And I trust you, sort of.”

“Well.” Kento winked at him. “That’s your first mistake.” 

The walk to the Family Mart was a cold one, and once he was there he began to fret internally about what Kento would even want to eat for breakfast. It made him feel stupid, telling himself to stop being an idiot multiple times, but his indecisiveness got the better of him and by the end of the trip he’d bought more double what the two of them would likely be able to eat. By some semi-saving grace though, he met Marius on his way in. 

“You’re here early.” He remarked when Marius was in earshot, standing in front of the precinct doors to wait for him. 

“I was worried that you and Nakajima Kento would be dead in the morning. Would have killed each other.” Marius explained, coming to a stop in front of Fuma. “But you’re still alive, at least. Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“Kiss him?” 

“What? No.” 

“Then whose coat is that?” 

“Oh. Uh.” Fuma turned to the precinct door, opening it. “I mean, it’s Kento’s. But I didn’t ask for it. He put it on me.”

“And you’re just... Wearing it.”

“I didn’t want it, it’s cold out, he insisted—” Fuma’s attempts to excuse away the coat were waved off by Marius almost at once. 

“Yeah, no. Don’t lie to me.” 

“What?”

“I’m a pixie.” Marius reached up, one index finger touching the tip of each of his long, pointed ears. “Mischief is in my blood. I always know when people are lying to me.” 

“Wait, seriously?” Fuma asked. “Always?” 

“Almost always. With other pixies it’s harder to tell, but I’ve never been wrong before.” There was a touch of pride in Marius’s voice, Fuma hitting him on the shoulder. 

“Then why do you never come into interrogation rooms with me?”

“Because you told me not to!”

“That was when you first started and I hated your guts!” 

Fuma hit him again and Marius squawked, rushing into the building, Fuma trying to chase after him with his heavy convenience store bags. He managed to catch up when his assistant skidded to a stop in front of Shori’s desk, putting his bags down in favor of putting Marius in a headlock. It wasn’t easy, considering how much taller Marius was, but he was also weaker and more willowy than Fuma, bending easily. 

“Now boys, I think you’re both pretty.” Kento said, typing at his laptop, though he looked amused. “No need to fight about it.”

“I got food.” Fuma reported, arms still around Marius’s head. 

“My hero.”

“And it’s a lot, so you can have some too.” The last sentence was directed at Marius, Fuma releasing him. “And Shori, when he gets here.” 

They picked through the bags, getting what they wanted. Fuma grabbed a sweet bread and walked around behind Kento, wanting to see what he was working on so intently. For a good deal of the night yesterday Kento had been focused on the screen, but hadn’t clicked or typed much; now he was typing away, clicking various places and quickly reading things with a slight frown on his face. 

He had a program on the bottom right side of the screen that was simply called “Unlock”, and as Fuma watched, completely bypassed the password required for a private housing website, downloading nearly fifteen lease agreements and housing contracts and opening the first one. Fuma couldn’t help a shake of his head. 

“So.” Marius propped his feet up on Shori’s desk, opening up the banana he was holding and taking a bite. His next words were around a mouthful of yellow mush. “What did you get up to last night?”

“We worked.” Fuma told him. Kento didn’t even spare him a glance as he spoke. 

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“What?” Was Kento talking about him falling asleep? Sure, he’d passed out for a couple of hours, but he’d gotten some work done too, and Kento definitely had. 

“I mean, I’d watch where you’re putting your feet.” Kento looked over at Marius for a moment. “Mr. Detective says he wiped the desk off, but I don’t know any cleaning product in the world that can scrub off that much passion.” 

Kento was  _ not _ talking about him falling asleep. Marius came dangerously close to spitting banana everywhere, and Fuma didn’t even know what to do with himself, feeling his face burning. 

“He’s joking.” Fuma told Marius, reminded of the built in lie detector the pixie had that he’d just learned about. “Hey, you  _ know _ that he’s joking.” 

“Yeah, but he just said that  _ out loud.”  _ Marius said back, looking incredulous. Kento, on the other hand, looked rather proud of himself; he was wearing a smirk that he glanced at Fuma with, and if they’d known each other better Fuma might have hit him on the shoulder or the back of the head, like he often did with Marius. 

“You are so red.” Marius was laughing at Fuma now, and Fuma was seriously considering going over and pummeling him. “Your face. All the way up your ears and everything.”

That made Kento start laughing, and Fuma did go over and try pummeling him. Marius was running circles around the empty room, Fuma on his heels, when a shout stopped them.

“What’s going on?” 

Shori walked in, and Fuma gaped at him. Shori never came in early. It was only thirty minutes before he was supposed to be here, but still. He was early. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might mix it up and try to kill our friend Nakajima, but you’re just doing the same old thing and trying to kill Marius instead.” Shori answered, walking over to his desk. “What is all this?” 

“Food. You can have some.”

Shori seemed to evaluate the pile for a moment before simply sitting down without touching anything. 

“Good morning, Detective Sato.” Kento greeted cordially. “You look dazzling this morning.”

“And you look quite tired.” Shori responded, digging around in his bag. 

“Hurtful.” Kento gave Shori a bit of a pout, but Shori seemed unfazed. 

“How is the program coming?”

“I need twenty more minutes.” 

Nodding, Shori turned to Fuma. Fuma expected him to say something, but Shori just looked over him instead, his eyes going narrow after a moment, and he pointed at Fuma’s right hand. 

“What is that?” 

“What?” Fuma asked back, surprised Shori could see the faint scribbles that he’d tried to scrub away. 

“Between your fingers. There’s something black on you.”

He sounded a bit wary, but considering the case they were working, it was understandable. Fuma didn’t know what he was talking about, lifting his right hand to look. 

Sure enough, there was a black squiggly line down the inside of his finger, easily hidden when he pressed his pointer and middle fingers together. It was just black marker, but because of its position, he hadn’t seen it when he’d tried to clean his hands off before. Kento had that look on his face again, the expression that suggested that he was trying very hard not to laugh, and Fuma turned to him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Why?” He asked. Instead of answering, Kento took Fuma’s right hand in both of his own. The contact was so surprising that Fuma just stood there, his hand going slack, too caught up in it to realize that Kento was positioning his fingers for him. Kento folded down all of Fuma’s fingers except his pointer finger, then raised his hand up so that the finger was pressed under his nose, giving him the appearance of having a pseudo-mustache. 

Marius collapsed in his chair in a heap of laughter, Shori laughing too, Kento giving him a rather self-satisfied grin. 

“I am going to arrest you the second this case is over.” Fuma told Kento, whose grin just widened. 

“Kinky. I like it.” 

Seventeen minutes later, Kento declared himself done. They all crowded together behind Kento’s computer screen, where the picture he’d showed Fuma earlier in the morning was again pulled up. 

“Is that her?” Marius asked. “The witch?”

“Yeah.” Witches weren’t always women, but judging solely by appearance, this one was. “The only name I can find for her that I think might be accurate is _'Mania'."_

_ “Mania?”  _ Fuma repeated. The western syllables felt weird in his mouth. “Wait, like the word ‘mania’? Like ‘crazy’?”

“Apparently it’s an old name; Latin, or something. I looked into it. Back then, it translated to ‘mother of souls’ which is, you know, spooky. Now, the reason I only have a first name is because the only official information I could find about her online was through housing records. She lives above a shop that she owns, a place that sells candles and amulets and stuff. Ownership of the property goes back over three hundred years, and the first name has stayed the same, but the last name kept changing.”

“Did the name change every century?” Shori asked. 

“Roughly, yeah.”

“It’s all her, most likely.” He said with a nod. “Name changes are something that beings with extended life spans will do, in an attempt to hide their age. Do you have an age for her?”

Kento shook his head. “I couldn’t dig that far back.”

“But why her?” Marius asked. He was frowning a bit. 

“She was at all four locations.” Kento said. He pulled up more photos, all screenshots, one of each location that the victims’ soulmates had been touched. In each screenshot she was there, very close to the soulmate. “You can actually see it happen on the second victim; I saved a video clip. She touches his arm, and you can see the black mark show up. It’s her.” 

“But why?” Marius asked again. “What is her motive? Any connection with the victims?”

“The victims don’t have any connection with each other. That much we know already.” Shori said. “It does seem random.”

“Maybe it is.” Fuma turned to Kento. “How old did you say she was?”

“I don’t know.” 

“But if it is her that’s owned this place for so long, that would put her between four and six, wouldn’t it?”

“Between four and six what, years old?” Kento asked. 

“Between four and six hundred years old.” Shori clarified. “With extended life spans and immortal beings, there’s been a recognizable pattern; if they don’t have a support system of beings with similar life spans, they naturally lose friends and family over time. By the time they reach four hundred years, they’ve lost lifelong relationships three times over, and they start feeling apathetic or angry. There’s an increased chance that they will either be a danger to others, or to themselves.”

“So, she might just be doing this because she’s old and angry?” Kento asked. 

“And lonely.” Fuma said. “But yeah, pretty much.”

“Seems weird.” Marius said, but he shrugged, not looking very bothered. “Where is she now?” He asked Kento. “Do you know? Should we go get her?” 

“She’s at her shop.” Kento said, clicking through a couple of screens. He showed them a live feed of a security camera inside the aforementioned shop, showing the woman behind the counter, rearranging some candles, her hair falling in a dark sheet across her face. Fuma glanced to Shori, his eyebrows raised in question. Shori took in his look, then looked at the video on Kento’s laptop for a few moments. 

“Yes.” He finally said. “We need to question her. We should bring her in.” 

Fuma nodded, jumping to action immediately. He got himself ready to leave, and while Shori was putting his badge on his belt, turned to Kento.

“You can go.” He said. “You’ve done everything we needed you to do.” 

“No thank you?” Kento asked, getting to his feet.

“I haven’t arrested you yet, have I?” 

Kento laughed. “Come on, I think we’re past that. Besides, I can’t go yet.” 

“Why not?”

Kento walked over, poking Fuma in the chest with a finger. 

“You need to return my coat to me when you get back.” 

It was Fuma’s turn to grin a bit, though he tried not to.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” 

“You’re not that sneaky, Detective.” Kento reached out, giving a light tug on both sides of the open coat with his hands. “Try not to let her touch you. I don’t want finally kissing you to kill me.” 

“Fuma.” Shori was already turned towards the door. “Are we going?” 

“Yeah.” Kento was giving him a small grin, and Fuma realized, upon the insinuation of Kento kissing him when he got back, that he wouldn’t mind a kiss from Kento. That he  _ wanted _ to kiss Kento. But he turned away instead, following Shori out the door.

The drive to the shop was over half an hour. Fuma was behind the wheel, Shori sitting beside him. Fuma kept expecting Shori to say something, to ask him or tease him about the night before, or about the way he knew he was looking at Kento, how obvious he felt he’d just been, but Shori didn’t say anything. He was fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, Fuma realizing that he was nervous. It wasn’t until they came to a stop in front of the shop that he spoke. 

“This is going to be dangerous.” 

“Yeah.” Fuma said. He couldn’t lie, wouldn’t lie to Shori. “It is.” 

“We can’t let her touch us.” 

Fuma realized then that it wasn’t himself, or Fuma that Shori was nervous for. He was scared for Sou. 

“Then we won’t. But Shori, if it comes to it…” Fuma reached up, touching the inside of his arm where his soul marks were. He didn’t have to look to know; his soulmate only had thirty-six hours left. “...use all of the barrier spells and protection spells you have on yourself.”

“But—”

“I’m serious. I’ll be fine.” Fuma met Shori’s eyes, and didn’t let him look away until he agreed. 

“Okay.” 

Fuma led the way inside the shop. It was dim, lit only by candles, and empty save for the two of them. A bell in the doorway jingled, and the witch looked up at them, her face devoid of everything other than mild interest. She met eyes with Fuma and after a second of staring, Fuma felt a burning sensation on his back, between his shoulder blades. He had a magical tattoo there, a ward against possession and mind control, and the burning feeling meant that the tattoo was doing its job. Something was happening. She was trying to get inside his head. 

Fuma reached back with the smallest movement possible, tapping Shori three times on the arm. A warning. Despite her not being able to get into his mind, her attempting it had just turned this encounter from neutral to hostile. Now that she knew she couldn’t control his mind, she might try offensive magic against them, or maybe even violence. Shori didn’t visibly react, but Fuma felt a slight change in the air next to him; Shori had just put his shields up. 

“Kikuchi Fuma, is there something I can do for you?” She asked. 

She hadn’t read his mind, but somehow, already knew his name. Fuma kept the surprise off his face, trying to stay neutral. She hadn’t really done anything, not yet, and keeping the situation from escalating was crucial. He tried to proceed normally. 

“I’m Detective Kikuchi Fuma, and this is my partner Detective Sato Shori. We would like you to come down to the precinct and answer a couple of questions.”

She didn’t react, didn’t move, just stood there and stared at him. It was unnerving, but Fuma didn’t flinch, didn’t let himself look away. Then a grin split her face, so wide it nearly curled up to her ears, her eyes going to narrow slits with the movement, so unsettling that Fuma felt something in his stomach drop. 

“That was quick.” Her tongue, pale and grey, was visible between her teeth when she spoke. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Have you been enjoying it?” She was coming around from behind the counter. “The curse that I perfected for you?” 

Shori reached forwards, tapping Fuma’s arm in two quick groups of two. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Be cautious, don’t try anything; we may need to leave and return with reinforcements. 

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to know you?” Fuma asked, and the woman stopped. 

“Has time really changed so much?” She asked. Then she squared her shoulders to him, tilting her chin down, her eyes having to look up to see him, irises barely visible under her eyelids. “How about now?”

Her mouth opened wide--too wide--and a memory came to Fuma so sharp and so fast that his inhale hurt. He recognized her. He wasn’t a twenty-four year old detective anymore, not in that moment; he was seven years old again, so terrified he couldn’t move, his arms extended backwards in an attempt to protect a stranger, another boy his age that was gripping so tight to Fuma’s shoulder that his fingernails would have been painful, if he’d been aware enough to feel it. 

Shori was looking at him in question, his eyes wide and afraid, but Fuma couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with us.” Shori said, stepping forwards. Him jumping into action helped, Fuma able to swallow a few times and take a step with him. The witch ducked behind one of the many shelves in her shop, barely visible through rows of glowing rocks. 

“I’ve been waiting to meet you again.” She said. “I can’t wait to make you do it. Kill your soulmate. I can’t wait to watch.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then you’re running out of time.” Fuma told her, drawing his gun. Shori drew his as well, the witch continuing to retreat. She was backing herself into a corner. 

“I have the perfect amount of time.” 

“Why do this?” 

“You almost killed me!” Her voice became a hiss, loud and sudden and sharp. Shori didn’t turn from her, but Fuma saw his gaze flick over to him for just a moment. “What says I can’t do the same to you?” 

They were almost on her. She was hiding behind one final shelf, and on it were rows upon rows of candle jars, ornately constructed and decorated. Fuma took another step, and she swiped her hand out, her fingers curled into claws. Fuma dodged her touch, letting a bullet loose from his gun. He saw it catch her in the shoulder, saw her jerk back, and she let out a scream. 

All of the candle jars on the shelves in front of Fuma shattered to pieces, glass flying into his face. Fuma stumbled back with a yell, closing his eyes tightly and throwing an arm up to protect himself, feeling the tiny shards cutting into his cheeks and forehead and hands. When he’d opened his eyes again the witch was gone, Shori standing by an open back door. 

“Are you okay?” Shori asked him. 

“I…” Fuma wasn’t sure how to answer that. Everything stung, and he felt stunned. “Where…?”

“She’s fast. She made it out the back door, and it wasn’t safe to leave you here and chase after her.” Shori’s shields had worked well against the glass; he had a dusting of sand on his front where the shards of glass would have landed, but had been ground down harmlessly into grit instead. “You… Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No.” Dazed, Fuma was just standing there, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. “I--we should…”

“We should go back to the precinct.” Shori said. “We need to tell our superior officer what happened.” His tone was a forced calm, but calm nonetheless, and Fuma nodded, the two of them holstering their guns and walking back to the car together. 

When Fuma sat down behind the wheel he leaned back against the seat, bringing his hands up to wipe them over his face. Shori reached up quickly to stop him. 

“Don’t do that. You still have glass in your face.” He said. Fuma pulled down the driver’s side sun visor and opened up the mirror to get a look at his face, and the sight made him wince. He looked horrifying, his entire face littered with cuts, most of them bleeding. 

“Do you want me to try to extract it for you?”

“Only if you’re sure you can pull it out at the same angle it went in.” Fuma said. It would hurt a lot otherwise. “If not, I’ll just wait on that.” 

Nodding, Shori didn’t try to pull the glass out. Fuma started up the car. They were quiet for a couple of moments as he began down the street, then Shori spoke up again. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked. The words caught Fuma off guard; it wasn’t common to hear Shori use rude language when they were supposed to be working, even if they were out of the precinct. “What was she talking about? What’s going on?” 

“I’ve seen her before.” Fuma said. “It was almost eighteen years ago, so of course I didn’t recognize her.” 

“She said… You almost killed her?” His voice was a bit careful now, Fuma nodding. If he was going to tell this story, he would have to start from the beginning. Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he used his right to roll his sleeve up his left arm. He didn’t stop until the clothing was up past his elbow, extending his arm to show his soul marks to Shori. 

“Anything that had to do with my soulmate always made my mom sad.” He said. “Every year on their birthday, she would cry. I always hated it, so when it was the day that I was supposed to meet them, it wasn’t a school day and I didn’t want to be at home. I got on a train and took it as far north as I could go. It wasn’t very far, only three hours away, but there was a huge park maybe half an hour away from the train station that I got off on, so I decided to spend the day there.”

Fuma could tell Shori didn’t understand what he was talking about, but he didn’t interrupt. 

“I didn’t stay on the paths in the park. I don’t know why, but I ran into the trees and I ended up getting lost. As it turned out, the park was on the edge of an actual forest. I didn’t care about being lost at first, but just as I decided to try finding my way back, this kid was running out of the trees towards me. He was my age probably, and crying, one of his knees really skinned up and bleeding. A lot of him was skinned up and bleeding.”

Seeing that boy running through the trees, crying and terrified, had been one of the scariest moments of Fuma’s life. What made it all the worse though, was that Fuma had never been able to shake the thought that this boy, whoever he was, had been the soulmate he was supposed to meet that day. Judging by the birthdate, the age seemed right. Looking like that, injured and so viscerally afraid, was the only image of his soulmate that Fuma had. 

“And this… This huge witch creature was chasing him, following this silver light that seemed to be coming out of him. He ran to me, and clung to me, and I tried to help, I… I grabbed the light thing, and I just started pulling it. And she started choking. So I kept pulling.”

Fuma had gone to the library about it, trying to figure out what it was he’d encountered in the woods, and what the silver light had been. He’d found information on Souruita; or, fully in English:  _ Soul eater.  _ They drained people of their life force, the process fast, painful, and very difficult to fight against. Killing a Souruita returned the life back to the person it had been stolen from, but only if that person was still alive; parts of a soul couldn’t be given back to an empty shell.

The name “mother of souls” for that witch of a woman now made a lot more sense.

“She finally got close to me and hit me. It knocked me to the ground, but she was still choking, so I got up, grabbed the boy’s hand, and we ran. He was hugging me, and crying too hard to really talk, so I didn’t really know what to do. I just took him to a police box and went home. I felt bad for not staying with him, but I wanted to go home after all of that.” 

Shori nodded a bit, sitting there, taking the story in.

“So, that witch thing from when you were little is supposed to be that one?” He asked, pointing vaguely behind him to gesture to the encounter they’d just had. Fuma nodded.

“Has to be.” 

“And that kid… He’s your soulmate, isn’t he?” 

“I think so.” There was a lump in Fuma’s throat, the adrenaline from the situation finally leaving his limbs in shakes. He swallowed hard, the feeling painful. 

“You never told me that you’d met your soulmate, Fuma. You don’t talk about him.”

“Yeah. That’s because I haven’t seen him since that day. I don’t know who he is.” 

Shori looked surprised at that, Fuma fixing his eyes on the road. He felt awkward now, and exposed, wanting to roll his sleeve back down. He reached over with his right hand to do it when Shori spoke up. 

“That date…” His eyes were fixed on Fuma’s arm. Fuma glanced down at it too, the death date— _ tomorrow’s date _ —making his stomach clench. 

“I know.” His face hurt, wanting nothing more than to rub at it, to scrub the glass off, but he only knew anything he would do would only drive the shards in deeper. “He’s supposed to die tomorrow.” 

“I wasn’t talking about that. I mean the birth date.”

“What about it?” 

“You don’t recognize it? I thought you would remember, out of anyone.” Shori’s expression had gone a bit soft. “We have a whole file on him. Fuma, that’s Nakajima Kento’s birthday.” 

“What?” Fuma pulled up to a stop sign, pausing to look at his arm.  _ 13031994. _ March 13, 1994. “That can’t--that has to be a coincidence.”

“I mean, it might be a coincidence.” Shori agreed. “And there’s a good chance that it is. But if it’s not... We should talk to him. He could be in danger.” 

When they arrived, Marius was already standing, rushing to them while Kento got to his feet. Marius looked over both of them, then stared at Fuma, looking slightly panicked. 

“You have glass in your face.” 

“I know.” 

“There’s glass--you have  _ glass  _ in your _face--"_

“There’s no one more aware of that than me.” Fuma said shortly, pushing past him to get to Kento. Marius and Shori followed behind him, Kento looking over him with a wince on his face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. It looked as though he knew the question was a stupid one while he asked it, Fuma knowing that his answer was equally stupid, but saying it anyway.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Kento didn’t call him on the lie. “We watched what happened on the cameras.” He said. “She was talking to you, wasn’t she? What was she saying?” 

“I…” Fuma wasn’t sure how to answer, but Shori stepped in. 

“This is a targeted crime.” He said. “She’s after Fuma specifically.”

“How?” Confusion had mixed with the concern and surprise that was already on Marius’s face. “It was four completely different victims in four completely different places. Totally random, right?”

“She was using them to test out the curse.” Shori explained. “To figure out how to use it.”

“And to get my attention.” Fuma added.  _ Have you been enjoying it? The curse that I perfected for you? _

“So what, she wants to kill you?” Marius asked, but Kento spoke up before Fuma had the chance to answer. 

“That’s not how the magic works.” He said. “She wants to kill your soulmate.” 

Fuma couldn’t do it; couldn’t look at Kento now. Shori had no such problem. 

“Nakajima, we need to see your soul marks.”

“...what?” Kento’s incredulous tone made it obvious that he understood why Shori was asking, and the implications of the request. That he might be the target—that he might be Fuma’s soulmate. 

“We think it may be relevant to the case.”

“I really doubt that.” Kento said, and the sincerity of the statement would have hurt Fuma’s pride a bit, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Kento was reluctant, that much obvious, everything in his body language closed off. Soulmates were a touchy subject for him, Fuma had learned, and he decided to speak up. 

“We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t have to.” He said, and Kento looked at him. 

“Is this a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ sort of situation?” He asked. 

“It can be.”

Kento stood there for a long, contemplative moment, his eyes on the floor. 

“...fine.” The word was said lightly, and he began rolling his sleeve up, arm bent up at the elbow. When he was finished he turned towards them, straightening his arm out, showing them the inside of his forearm. 

Kento had no soul marks. Not in the way that some people did, people that had tried to curse theirs off, a spell that did nothing but leave horrible scarring behind; his skin was completely blank, pale and smooth. 

“Aren’t you human?” Marius’s voice was loud, completely insensitive in his surprise, but thankfully it seemed to amuse Kento more than offend him. “You do have a soul, right?”

“I’ve been told I do.” Kento answered. “Or, part of one. That’s what the doctors said, anyway. I’d be dead, otherwise.”

“Doctors?” Shori echoed, Fuma deciding to ask the question that all of them were dancing around. 

“What happened?” 

Kento pulled his sleeve down quickly. 

“When I was a little under a year old, my house got attacked by a pair of Souruitas.” He said. “Both of my parents were killed, and while they attacked me too, help arrived quickly enough to save me. One of the Souruitas was killed, and the other escaped.” Though the story was a sad one, Kento didn’t tell it with much despondency in his voice. He told it like a story that had happened to someone else. Fuma understood wanting to be disconnected from it, or feeling distanced due to it having happened when he was so young, and didn’t know what to say or how to react. Kento wasn’t looking at any of them. “I was born with soul marks--I’ve seen some blurry black lines on my arm in my baby pictures--but after that day they were gone.” 

A past like that wasn’t something Fuma would have ever guessed for Kento, wasn’t something that was even hinted at with the teasing and cheerful behavior he always put on, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk much about it, and definitely didn’t want the empty apology that usually came with talking about bad news, so Fuma didn’t give it. Instead he glanced at Shori, and knew Shori was thinking the same thing he was; this still didn’t answer the question of if Kento was his soulmate or not. Could he even be Fuma’s soulmate, if some of his soul--the part that was supposed to be able to recognize soulmates--was gone?

“Well?” Kento was looking at him expectantly. “You got my sob story. I think it’s your turn, big guy.” 

Fuma nodded a little, going to roll up his sleeve as well when a loud booming sound rocked the floor. Kento gripped him hard by the bicep, the air in front of him shimmering slightly as Shori cast a shield around them. The other officers in the precinct were on their feet, a hush falling over the room, apprehension and fear thick in the air. 

The doors burst open. It was the witch, her hair and eyes wild, her long limbs outstretched, fingers curling and releasing as she stormed in. She had blood all down her front by the bullet hole in her shoulder, staring Fuma down with a hatred so intense it was almost sickening. She was  _ mania  _ personified.

A man near the door tried to approach her, but with a fling of her hand, he was slammed into the wall. Guns were drawn, but while Fuma tried to reach back for his something connected hard with the side of his head, his whole body jerking to the side with the impact of it, tears springing to his eyes on reflex as the sharpness of the glass shards and the dull pain of what felt like a punch hit him all at once. 

It had been a punch, Fuma spinning to the side to see what had hit him. Marius’s eyes were blank and rolled back, and he threw another fist at Fuma. The witch had possessed him, had done it easily, and now he was swinging his fists at Fuma as hard as he could.

Fuma pushed Kento into Shori, getting both of them out of Marius’s way. But Marius was only swinging at him, Fuma getting hit hard in the stomach before he’d managed to step back and out of range of Marius’s long arms. With the witch advancing at them--everyone trying to subdue her had literally been tossed aside--and Marius punching at him with all of his strength, Fuma was trying desperately not to panic. Whatever plan the witch had concocted to ruin him, it seemed she was too angry to care much about it anymore. Getting shot, apparently, had been very upsetting. 

Fuma dodged one of Marius’s punches and blocked another one, the impact of it stinging the palm of his hand. He’d never seen Marius fight like this, or even move like this, having a hard time anticipating his next action. He was completely blindsided by Marius pulling a small knife from his pants pocket, flicking it open and thrusting it forwards. The knife went through the open sides of his jacket, ripping his shirt and slicing a line diagonally from his side to the middle of his stomach. 

Fuma cursed under his breath, making a grab at Marius’s wrist and trying to wrestle the knife away from him. He knew one quick and easy way to end a possession, but it wasn’t very nice. He didn’t want to do it to Marius, but he’d be dammed if he was getting stabbed to death at work by his assistant. 

“Sorry.” He murmured out, sizing Marius up for a moment before swinging his fist as hard as he could into Marius’s bottom jaw. Marius’s head spun fast, losing both consciousness and his balance; his posture slumped, and Fuma ran forwards to catch him before he hit the floor. 

“We need to go!” He yelled to Shori. Thankfully, Shori had Kento by the arm, and Fuma could just barely make out the protective ring he had around himself and Kento, the air quivering slightly. “Get him out of here!” 

Shori nodded, beginning a path towards the emergency exit. Hefting Marius up over one shoulder, Fuma followed. Marius was hard to carry, but not because of his weight; his limbs were way too long, Fuma making his way clumsily to the door.

They had to run almost all the way around the building to get to the car, but they made it inside, Fuma starting it up and skidding out of the parking lot before he even knew where they were going. 

“My house.” Shori said. “We can go there. Sou will be home, but maybe he can help.” 

Nodding, Fuma took a quick turn that would set them on course. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, at Marius completely slumped in the backseat, Kento next to him. Kento met his eyes in the mirror.

“You okay?” Fuma asked. Kento, at some point in all of it, had found the wherewithal to grab his laptop bag--presumably with his laptop in it--the strap over his shoulder and the computer in his lap. He nodded.

“I’m alright. I think. I have all my limbs, so that’s something.”

Shori had his phone in his hand, staring down at it.

“Call him.” Fuma said, knowing what his partner was struggling with. Sou had anxiety issues, the affliction part of why Shori kept such a structured schedule, always leaving for work and coming home at the same time every day. “Some warning will be better than us stumbling into your house looking like this.” 

“You’re right.” Shori let out a breath, then dialed his fiance’s number. The first thing out of his mouth was “I’m okay”, Fuma driving them to Shori’s house while he listened to Shori explain what had happened, and what to expect in the next ten minutes. When they arrived, Fuma parked and they all got out, all three of them needed to help wrestle the dead weight that was an unconscious Marius out of the back of the car. 

“Do you have any scrapes, or cuts on you?” Shori asked Kento.

“No, I’m okay, I promise.” Kento said quickly, looking almost touched by Shori’s concern for his welfare. Shori, however frowned, and Fuma sighed. 

“Blood wards? Really, Shori?” 

“It seemed appropriate, considering our circumstances.” Shori said, turning to explain to Kento. “I have protection spells on my house, and for one of them I will need some of your blood for you to enter.” 

“Oh. That’s fun. What do you do when you have parties?” 

“Here.” Fuma hefted Marius up on one shoulder again, using his now-free hand to lift up his shirt. The cut on his stomach was thin and shallow, but it had bled. “Use this for mine.” 

Shori did, and after pricking himself, Kento, and Marius with a thin blade he kept sheathed in a pocket in the inside of his suit jacket, smeared it all on the bottom of an inconspicuous-looking potted plant by the door. They all crossed the threshold without incident, and stepped inside. 

Sou was hovering by the door, looking over them when they came in. His eyes went almost comically wide when he saw the state Fuma was in, with Marius slung over his shoulder like a rag doll. Fuma gave him as much of a grin as he could muster up.

“Hey.” He’d met Sou a handful of times, and liked him well enough, but didn’t have text conversations with him the same way Marius often did. “Help me with him, would you?” 

Together they laid Marius along the length of the living room couch, Sou’s hand going immediately to his neck.

“He’s alive.” Fuma said quickly. Sou was a college student, going to school for magical healing, three years through the program. “He was possessed, and stabbed me, so I had to knock him out.”

“He stabbed you?” Sou’s head shot up, looking over Fuma again, his eyes catching this time on the blood on his shirt. 

“Only a little bit. It’s more of a cut, really, I--” 

“Go sit at the kitchen table.” Sou said. “Is anyone else injured?”

“I mean, my finger kind of hurts now.” Kento offered, holding out the finger Shori pricked to let him in the house.

“And that is Nakajima Kento.” Shori told Sou. Despite everything, the name made Sou smile. 

“Oh! I’ve heard so many funny stories about you!”

“You guys talk about me?” Kento laughed. “If you wanted to be my friend, you could have just asked. I would have said yes, you know.”

“And you?” Sou turned to Shori, his voice a bit softer, reaching up to cup Shori’s cheeks with his hands. “You’re okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Shori put his hands up to cover Sou’s own, and that seemed to placate him almost more that Shori’s words had, smiling a little and nodding before turning his full attention to Fuma. 

Fuma was sitting at the kitchen table as instructed, Sou looking him up and down for a moment. 

“You’re a mess.” He said, and Fuma gave a snort of laughter. 

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything that hurts the most? Something you want me to try to fix first?”

“I really want to get this glass out of my face.”

Sou nodded a bit. “Good choice. That would probably be my first priority too.” He pulled up a chair, seating himself facing Fuma, calling over his shoulder to his fiancé. “Could you get me a bowl, please?”

Fuma moved his own chair, so he was facing Sou instead of the table, and Sou lifted a hand, his face growing serious as he focused. 

“We just finished a three week course on hand steadying techniques at school.” Sou said. “You’re the first person I get to practice on.”

“My lucky day.” 

The glass removal didn’t really hurt much, but in no way was it comfortable either. It was all telekinetic, Sou hovering around Fuma’s head, his fingers moving in small, precise motions. He worked slowly, the pieces coming out one at a time, hovering in the air for a moment before clinking down into the bowl on the table next to them. 

Fuma was glad to be sitting down. The adrenaline had started to fade, and he’d been hit with a wave of exhaustion. He didn’t want to do nothing though, itching to get with Shori and discuss their next move. He tried to open his mouth to speak, Sou snapping at him immediately to stay still. Sou didn’t want him to move, and Fuma didn’t want Sou to mess up, so he had to be content with just sitting there. 

A couple of minutes after Sou’s assurance that he was almost finished, Shori’s cell phone rang. 

“The chief.” He explained, stepping out of the room to answer. Fuma watched after him, wanting to hear their conversation, wanting to know what their next instructions would be. He was brought out of his thinking by Sou declaring himself done, stepping back to look over Fuma’s face. He got a warm and wet washcloth, wiping Fuma’s face clean.

“Okay. I got all of it. Time to show me that stab wound.”

“It’s really not that bad.” Fuma said.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Sighing, Fuma got to his feet, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He was three buttons down when he looked over and saw Kento watching him very intently from a chair in the living room. 

“Do you mind?” Fuma asked. 

“Oh, absolutely not.” Kento crossed his legs, resting his elbow on one knee, then putting his chin on his closed fist. “I don’t mind at all.” 

Fuma had to roll his eyes at that, but couldn’t help the amusement that he also knew was on his face, unbuttoning his shirt all the way. He pulled up the side of it, letting Sou see the extent of the gash. 

“Okay.” Sou allotted, bending down to look closely at the wound. “You’re right. It’s really shallow. And here you were, being all dramatic and saying you were stabbed.” 

“I said it wasn’t bad!” Fuma protested, Sou about to retort when Shori reentered the room. He was still on the phone, speaking quickly.

“We can compile all of the evidence and send it to you. Yes. Yes, we have a name and a location.” He gave Kento a pointed look, and Kento obviously didn’t know what to make of it, glancing questioningly at Fuma and Sou. “Yes, I think we’ll be safe here. I understand. Please call if anything changes. Thank you.” 

He hung up. They were all looking at him, but he turned to Kento. 

“Nakajima, I’ll need you to compile all of the evidence you have on our witch into an email I can send to our superior officer.”

Kento nodded, going immediately to his laptop bag and pulling open his computer. 

“What happened?” Fuma asked. “What’s going on?” 

“He wanted to make sure we were alive, first of all.” Shori said. “I explained the situation. The whole situation.” 

Fuma nodded, understanding the implications of the second sentence. Shori had explained everything; the fact that Fuma was the target, the witch’s motive, and the possibility of Kento’s involvement in all of it due to Fuma’s soul marks. 

“But since you’re in danger, he wants you off the case.”

“What?” Fuma asked. “No. This is my case; I want to work it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.” 

“That’s why you’re not working it. To keep you from getting hurt.” Shori said. “We’re sending all of the evidence we have, and the chief is going to put other detectives on it. I told him where we were, and he said that if we were safe, we should stay put. And I think we’re safe. So we’re staying here until he tells us otherwise.” 

Fuma had been eager to hear their next move, but he hadn’t thought the move would be not to move at all. 

“You can’t be serious.” He said. 

“Come on, it could be fun.” Sou tried. While the sentiment was cute, it wasn’t what Fuma wanted right now. 

“I think it’s the best option.” Shori said. “Targets of a crime usually don’t continue investigating that crime, especially after they’ve had glass blown up in their face. She keeps hurting you; she might actually touch you next time.” 

Fuma wanted to argue that, but the bowl of bloody glass shards on the table and the knife wound on his stomach didn’t give him much room for argument. 

“Okay, I’ve got it all.” Kento piped up from his chair. “Where do you want me to send it again?” 

Shori went over to help him and Fuma, now in a much more grumbly mood, had to stand there while Sou prodded his cut closed and wiped his stomach clean too. Sou finished that at around the same time Shori and Kento finished sending all of their case information to their big boss, all of them turning to look at the still dead-to-the-world Marius on the living room couch.

“Alright.” Sou said, letting out a breath. “Let’s see if we can wake him up.” 

He walked over, placing his hands on either side of Marius’s head, the pads of his middle fingers on Marius’s temples. Fuma knew that while the punch was what knocked Marius unconscious, it probably wasn’t what was keeping him under; being possessed was an exhausting process, and Marius’s body was resting. Still though, he needed to be updated on the situation, and Fuma wanted to chew him out a little for stabbing him. Or at least tell Marius what happened, so he could hold it over the kid’s head for the next couple of years. 

Marius’s eyes blinked open, staring groggily up at Sou’s face. He frowned, voice a bit rough as he spoke. 

“Sou? What are you doing here?”

“You’re in my house, dummy.” 

“What?” 

They explained to him what had happened--“I  _ stabbed  _ you? You  _ punched  _ me?”--and after Marius had gotten past the nausea that came with being knocked unconscious, they scrounged around in Shori and Sou’s kitchen for dinner. Sou also healed up the small pricks Kento and Shori had given themselves to get past the blood barrier, using a simple touch for Kento’s, and pressing a kiss to Shori’s fingertip. 

“I’m not sure where everyone wants to sleep.” Shori said. “The couch is available, and there’s also a spare bedroom with one bed in it. Before anyone sleeps in there though, Nakajima and Fuma should use it; there’s something I think the two of you need to talk about.”

The words and the look Shori was giving him were both very pointed, Fuma knowing he couldn’t escape telling Kento about his soul marks any longer. He needed to anyway, he knew, since he’d promised Kento he would back at the station; being attacked by an ancient witch-monster didn’t change that. He got to his feet, holding out a hand to Kento. 

“A spare bedroom we should use?” Kento asked, once they were down the hall a ways and getting out of earshot. “What does that mean? Did he just hit on us for us?” 

“There’s something I’m going to tell you, and I need you to tell me if you remember it or not.” Fuma said. They’d reached the bedroom now, Fuma closing the door behind them while Kento got up onto the bed to sit down. 

“Not the best pickup line I’ve ever heard, but I’ll take it.” Kento responded, a little grin on his lips. “What’s going on?” 

Fuma sat on the bed across from him. “When I was a kid, I once took a really long train ride up north. Well, long for me at the time--maybe three hours north of Tokyo?--and went to a park.” 

It was obvious by the look on Kento’s face that the words were not at all what he’d been expecting to hear. 

“...congratulations?” He offered, Fuma waving the word away.

“While I was there, I went off the path and ended up getting lost in the woods.” 

“You’re not supposed to do that, you know. That’s how the goblins get you.” 

“I was lost in the woods for a while, and--”

“Hold on.” Kento held a hand up, interrupting him again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. This really seems like a solo story; how am I supposed to have remembered this?” 

“Because I’m not done yet.” Fuma was already nervous, and the constant stopping was making the whole thing difficult. “Could you please just let me talk?”

“Sorry.” Kento let out a breath. “I’m sitting on a bed alone with you. And your shirt is still open. It’s all making me a little nervous.” 

“Well, just--wait, I make you nervous?” The shirt, both unbuttoned and cut through, had felt pointless to wear, so Fuma had left it unbuttoned. He wondered now if he should change that.

“Don’t focus on that. Keep telling me the boring story about your childhood.” 

“It’s not--” Fuma sighed. “Okay. I was telling you this because while I was lost, a boy--about my age at the time--ran up to me. He was being attacked by a monster. A Souruita.” 

“Oh.” Kento looked at him; looked at him for a long time, as though he was a stranger that he was trying to place, a face from the past he was supposed to know, but didn’t. “I…” 

“That kid was you, wasn’t it?” The way Kento had said “oh” had been too understanding, the realization and recognition already in it, Fuma knowing the answer before Kento gave it. 

“Yes.” Kento said, his voice slightly faint from disbelief. “I… Yeah, I was living with my aunt after my parents died, and we were up there visiting her sister. Here,” Kento pulled his leg up onto the bed, rolling up his pant leg to his knee. On it was a scar, the skin pinched and pink and raised. Fuma remembered the boy, the tears on his face, the blood running down his leg. He reached a hand out towards the scar, not really knowing why, stopping himself just short of touching it. 

“You can touch it if you want; it doesn’t hurt.” Kento told him, as though Fuma’s worry was about the old injury. But Fuma couldn’t. He couldn’t, not now that he knew who Kento was, and who Kento was to him; he felt too precious to touch. A frown was growing on Kento’s face now, looking at Fuma with concern. “So… What, though? We met each other when we were kids. That’s cool and everything, but…”

It was Fuma’s turn. He pulled back his left shirtsleeve, rolling it back to his elbow, and pointed to the number in the middle. 

“That-- _ that  _ number, that date, is the day we met as kids.” He said. Then he pointed to Kento’s birthday, but that felt self-explanatory, saying instead, “It’s… My--it’s you, Kento.” 

He looked up, and saw tears welling in Kento’s eyes. One rolled down his cheek and at the sight of him crying Fuma’s inhibitions were gone, reaching over with his thumb to wipe the tear away. His hand paused there, on the side of Kento’s face, and Kento reached up, covering Fuma’s hand with his. With his other hand he reached over to Fuma’s soul marks, his fingers gentle as they touched the soft skin on the inside of Fuma’s wrist. 

“Sorry, I… I just never thought I would see this.” Kento said, sliding his thumb over Fuma’s hand once, slowly, before letting it go. “I never thought--it wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for me.” 

Fuma dropped his hand too, and Kento took a shuddering breath, looking up and angling his face towards the ceiling. Then he let out a bit of a laugh, the sound disbelieving in tone, taking Fuma’s arm in both of his and looking over the soul marks again. 

“It’s you.” He said, and he was smiling now. “It’s you, I… I’ve been looking, for  _ years,  _ and here you were the entire time.” 

“You were using the program for yourself.” Fuma said, his voice one of mock-accusation, trying to lighten the tone; Kento’s expression was still watery and fragile. 

“Of course I was.” Kento responded, as though it was obvious. Probably because it was. “After all the damage that had been done to my soul, doctors told me that I wouldn’t live past fifteen. And then I did, so I decided to try and find my soulmate. Any time with them would be better than no time at all, and I didn’t want them living their lives being lonely. That… That was the worst part, the idea of the person that I was supposed to love, and was supposed to love me--someone who had done nothing wrong, being alone their whole life.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong either.” Fuma told him, and Kento laughed a little.

“What happened to arresting me the first chance you get?” He asked, and Fuma laughed back. Kento, his fingers still on Fuma’s wrist, slid his hand forwards to rest his fingertips on Fuma’s palm. The touch was very light, but every one of Fuma’s nerves felt so sensitive to Kento’s touch, and when Fuma didn’t stop him Kento slid his fingers between Fuma’s own.

“That’s why I didn’t care much about breaking the law; I’d already lived longer than expected. I thought that it might even be easy; there are security cameras everywhere in Tokyo. Of course, I didn’t know that I was looking for an idiot that spent his entire life tugging his sleeves down.”

That made Fuma laugh again, just a bit, and Kento squeezed his hand. He glanced over to see Kento looking at him, his expression one Fuma couldn’t place, but was so intense and genuine that it almost took his breath away. Kento was so beautiful. 

“I knew there was something here.” Kento said, the words a bit playful, but still emotional too.

“What do you mean?” Fuma asked, half-convinced that he was so distracted by Kento, by Kento’s closeness and Kento’s hand in his, that he’d misheard the words. They’d been said quietly, more to himself than to Fuma, but Kento repeated them anyway. 

“I knew there was something here. Something between us. Half the time, I was convinced that it was just wishful thinking.” 

That made Fuma laugh, because honestly, it was true. But for him, maybe, the other way around; there had always been something in the way he was drawn to Kento, the way Kento could distract him effortlessly, the way his eyes always went to where Kento was or what he was doing. It was a tug he couldn’t control. But it had always been begrudging, denied and grumbled about; still, it was there. And it was love, he thought. At least the beginnings of it. 

“I didn’t want it to be you.” He confessed, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“Don’t you like me?” Kento asked, pouty and overly-innocent, teasing in a way that meant he already knew the answer to his question. Fuma said it anyway, though he couldn’t even get through one word without embarrassment.

“I--shut up, of course I like you.” He said, and Kento laughed at him, bringing their entwined hands up to his lips and kissing Fuma’s knuckles. The contact sent heat to his cheeks, and a squeeze in his chest that almost ached with the sudden strength of affection he felt. “It was because of the dates. The death date.”

Kento shifted his hand to get a look at Fuma’s soul marks again. He must have been looking at the death date--looking at his own death date--but his expression didn’t much change.

“That’s why I always kept my arm covered.” Fuma explained. “I always got such sympathetic looks from people; teachers, friends, strangers. It always made my mom cry, how little time my soulmate had.” 

“I’ve already lived for ten more years than I thought I would.” Kento said. His voice was unbelievably light considering the topic at hand, though his eyes were still on Fuma’s arm. “And I’ve known you for two of them. It’s all better than I could have hoped for.” 

_ But it’s not,  _ Fuma wanted to say, his eyes on their entwined hands.  _ I just found you; I want you and I want forever.  _ The words hurt too much to express aloud, and he didn’t want to say them to Kento, not when there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. He couldn’t change what would happen. Nothing he could do would help, and that helplessness made him almost sick with anguish. It was a feeling he’d spent most of his life running from. 

“It does kind of suck though. That it’s tomorrow.” Kento remarked, the dryness in his voice and his matter-of-fact tone making everything about the statement funny, though it was possibly the least funny thing in the universe. 

“That’s one way of putting it.”

That made Kento laugh out loud. 

“It’s not a lot of time. I should make the most of it, I guess.” He said. He lifted his eyes to Fuma’s face, then leaned close and kissed him. 

Though the kiss was gentle, it was in no way hesitant or unsure. Kento kissed him fully, firmly, sliding a hand onto Fuma’s leg to lean in close. Fuma kissed him back, but pulled away before the kiss could go any further. That caused Kento to frown, though he didn’t back away, didn’t move his hand or lean out of the intoxicatingly close proximity he’d put himself in. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“I don’t want you to think that you have to… I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Fuma said, feeling stuttering and distracted. But this was important; he had to say it. “Just because you’re my soulmate, and I just confessed to you. That doesn’t mean you have to kiss me.”

Kento’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he leaned back a little. 

“Do you think I don’t want to kiss you?” He asked, his voice so incredulous that Fuma didn’t know what to do with it. “...seriously?” 

“I just--”

“Fuma.” Kento stopped him, giving his thigh a squeeze, and the use of his first name effectively shut him up. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since we’ve met. The constant flirting wasn’t an obvious enough hint for you?”

“I mean, I thought that was just the kind of person you were. I thought you were joking.” 

“I was, mostly, but that doesn’t mean the end goal wasn’t real.” Kento laughed, open and amused. “I like you back. I want to kiss you. And the world’s best excuse ever just fell into my lap.” 

“I--uh, well.” Fuma didn’t know quite what to say, not expecting such a full confession from Kento, who began laughing again. And he was so gorgeous when he laughed, moving his hand from Fuma’s thigh to the back of his neck. 

“Come here.” He said, his voice barely more than a murmur, his eyes on Fuma’s lips for a moment before looking up under his lashes to meet Fuma’s own, and nothing in the world could have kept Fuma from leaning in. 

The kiss was more ardent that Fuma was expecting, the breath leaving his lungs, but he kissed back, breathing Kento in, leaning in, wanting Kento as close as possible. Some of the kisses that Kento pressed to his mouth had smiles in them, his lips happy and upturned, biting playfully at his lips but always soothing the teased skin with his tongue. 

Fuma wanted Kento closer still, tugging him across the bedspread a little. Kento got the hint, moving quickly to get into Fuma’s lap, one arm staying around his neck, the other reaching up to cradle Fuma’s face, his fingers gentle as always as they pressed against his cheek. 

His hands on Kento’s hips, Fuma moved his thumbs so they were tucked under Kento’s shirt, right above where his skin met the waist of his pants, and he began moving his kisses down from Kento’s lips to his neck. Kento slid a hand into his hair, his head tilting back easily, his whole body melted and pliant in Fuma’s lap. As Fuma kissed him, a small, completely happy, perfectly  _ contented _ sound came from Kento’s mouth. 

Fuma felt the sound as much as heard it, the vibrations of it soft against his lips, and it all seemed to cement the situation into reality; Kento was here with him, comfortable and happy and  _ safe,  _ and all at once, it was all too much. He drew back with his lips and pulled Kento in with a hug instead, tight and close, his arms wrapped around Kento’s back. 

Kento allowed himself to be held, his hand still in Fuma’s hair. He smoothed down some strands with his fingers, his voice light but concerned. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” Fuma said after a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Kento pulled back to see Fuma’s face, looking over him for a moment before he seemed satisfied with the answer, because it was true. Fuma was okay. He was just slightly overwhelmed, but definitely not in a bad way. 

“You know…” Kento began to grin. “We are in a bedroom.” 

“Yeah?”

“And on a bed.” 

That made Fuma laugh, rolling his eyes a bit, and Kento pulled away to fall back against the pillows. His hair was smooth and splayed out from his face, his eyes soft and sparkling and folded a bit by the way his smile went all the way to his eyes, both playful and overwhelmingly happy. Kento was beautiful, something Fuma had always been aware of--most of the time, with begrudging admittance, but still--but there was something different about now, about how comfortable he was, about how intimate it felt; it sent a rush through his blood, put his heartbeat in his throat, and Fuma wanted to look at him forever. 

“What?” Kento asked him. He had an expression on his face that suggested he knew why Fuma was staring, but Fuma didn’t even feel embarrassed now. 

“I mean… Just thinking.” 

“Yeah? About what?” 

“Do you think… Do you think that if I just don’t go to sleep, tomorrow will never come?” 

The smile, while still on his lips, left his eyes a little. The reminder of what was looming over them tomorrow was heavy, and Kento reached for him. 

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” 

Lifting himself up off the pillows, Kento pulled Fuma’s lips to his, tucking a hand under the collar of Fuma’s open shirt to put a hand on him. He slid Fuma’s shirt off his shoulders as he kissed him, pulling him down, his hands running along the tattoos on his back. Fuma sighed into his mouth, pushing everything that wasn’t  _ Kento  _ from his mind, all the fears of tomorrow and the stress of the case, wanting his only focus, only thought to be on him as they melted into the bed together. 

Fuma didn’t know quite when he fell asleep, but when he woke up the space in the bed next to him was empty. He sat up slowly, glancing around, wondering if he could persuade Shori into letting him borrow one of his shirts, because his own ruined one was in a heap on the floor--he would stretch it out for sure, but that was a sacrifice Fuma was willing to have Shori make--when Kento burst into the room. 

“I found her.” 

“You--” The “good morning” Fuma had been going to say died on his lips. “--what?” 

“When I sent that email to the Chief of Police, the one with all of our evidence in it, I decided to start my scanner for the witch again. Just to make sure she didn’t know where we’d gone; to keep an eye on her. Overnight, the program actually picked up something. It’s been tracking her since.”

“And…” Fuma looked over Kento’s stressed face. “I’m guessing that she’s not just hanging out at home.”

“She’s at that art museum a couple of train stops away. She’s taken the whole place hostage.”

Fuma was out of bed in an instant. Shori, Marius, and Sou were all in the kitchen, and one look at Shori’s face was all Fuma needed to know that he was already well aware of the situation. 

“No.” He said, as Fuma opened his mouth. He spoke anyway. 

“She could kill everyone in that museum Shori, we have to--”

“We’ll call, tell the force her location, they can go. We’re supposed to stay here.”

“They’ll scare her.” Fuma set his jaw. “They’ll spook her, and she’ll do something erratic, and we already know that she has no problem killing innocent people. All she wants is me, and I’m not going to let an entire museum of people get hurt if there’s something I can do to stop it.”

Shori was looking back at him, his gaze unwavering. Fuma knew what his desire to go was directly against what the Chief told them to do, but he didn’t think he could, physically, just be able to stand by. His moral compass didn’t work like that, and he knew Shori’s didn’t either. What Shori was grappling with was Fuma’s wellbeing, but that was something Fuma had lost concern for a long time ago. 

“If we’re going, then you’d better put on some clothes.” Shori finally said. “Wouldn’t want you looking indecent.” 

Fuma sent him a silent look of thanks, turning in the direction of Shori’s bedroom. He didn’t expect Kento to follow him, not realizing he was there until hands reached over to cover his, and Kento helped pull the too-small long-sleeved shirt over his head. 

“I have to go.” Fuma said, but Kento didn’t look upset. There was determination on his face instead. 

“I know you do. I want to come.” 

“Are--you’re crazy. No.”

“You don’t want me to?” 

“Kento…” There was a pout on Kento’s face. Kento was trying to be funny, trying to be cute, but Fuma didn’t have the time to argue with him. And Kento could see that, not pushing, his shoulders falling a bit. He asked the next questions like he already knew the answer. 

“Why not? Because this is some incredibly dangerous police operation and I don’t have any defensive training?” 

“Yes, actually. That’s exactly why.” Fuma told him, and an upset expression was beginning to grow on Kento’s face now, screwing up his eyebrows for a moment before he leaned in close and kissed Fuma fully on the mouth. 

Fuma kissed him back, holding him close, and when the kiss broke Kento pulled away only as much as he needed to breathe a bit, his exhale coming out as a sigh. 

“I’m selfish. I don’t want you to go.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Kento sighed again, glancing up at him, reaching down to tangle their fingers together. 

“You’d better hurry and get out of here then, because soon I’m going to hold on to you and I’m not going to let go.” 

The words were teasing and cheesy, sure, but knowing that Kento meant them brought a bit of a smile to Fuma’s face, and he nodded down at their entwined hands. 

“But you’re already holding onto me.”

“Yeah. And I’m just going to get more and more wrapped around you, so you’d better get out while you still can.”

That genuinely made Fuma laugh a little, despite everything, and they walked back to the kitchen together. Marius eyed their hand-holding with interest, while Shori looked grim. He was fully ready to go, with a jacket over his shoulders and his gun holster strapped to his hips. 

“Ready?” He asked, and Fuma nodded. Marius declared himself to be coming too. Fuma pulled his hand from Kento’s, who held on for only a moment before letting go. 

“I’ll stay here with him.” Sou told Fuma, gesturing to Kento. “You guys had better all come back in one piece, alright?” 

“We will!” Marius promised, the brightness in his tone a bit forced, and they were all out the door. 

“I’m still calling for backup.” Shori said. 

“As long as they don’t get there before us.” Fuma allotted, starting up the car. They pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, Marius’s voice loud, his question a stark contrast to the mood Fuma had put himself in, attempting to steel himself for what they were about to face.

“Are you and Kento a thing now?” 

“I… Yeah.” Fuma decided to say, despite Marius’s use of “a thing”, not sure of what title he could put on he and Kento, and what happened the night before, considering all of the circumstances. Marius let out a sudden, whooping cheer. 

“What?” Fuma had to ask him, the grin on Marius’s face huge. 

“I knew you two would end up together. I knew it.” 

“You did?” 

“Most people in the precinct thought the two of you would have sex at least once.” Shori said, and Fuma blanched, gripping the steering wheel, heat flooding his face. 

“All of you are the worst.” He grumbled, and Marius burst into loud laughter. Shori’s face was a bit more solemn, a bit more serious, but there was a smile there too as he glanced over at Fuma.

“It was nice that the two of you got to have the night, though.”

Fuma swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“Oh, come on.” Marius, in his obliviousness, had completely misplaced Shori’s concern. “Don’t worry. We’re going to come out of this just fine.” 

Despite that reassurance, the three of them were silent when Fuma pulled up to the art museum, Shori letting out a long breath. 

“Marius, I want you to stick to me.” He declared, Fuma nodding along in agreement immediately. “I’ll cast a shield around the both of us, so that possession can’t happen again.” 

“Okay.” Marius agreed with a nod.

“And then, when this is said and done, you’re getting yourself an anti-possession tattoo.” Fuma told him, opening his door; the other followed suit, the three of them approaching the entrance together. “I’ll even pay for it, but you need one.” 

Shori pushed open the door. It was incredibly, unnaturally quiet inside, something about it making the hair on the back of Fuma’s neck stand on end. Shori held up a hand and all of them stopped.

“Time.” He said. 

“What about it?”

“Something’s weird about it. It’s messed up in here, somehow.” 

That wasn’t comforting. There were no people at the entrance, no security, the front desk empty, so they entered the gallery unimpeded. They walked through two rooms of paintings before they came across any other people, and when they finally had company Fuma stopped in his tracks.

There were five people in the room they’d just entered, two couples and one individual, standing around and looking at art. It took a moment for Fuma to realize that they weren’t just engaged in the pieces they were seeing; they weren’t moving, weren’t blinking, weren’t breathing. They were all completely frozen. 

“Oh.” Shori’s voice held an understanding that Fuma was grateful for, because he himself was lost. “This was what I was sensing. They’re okay. The witch has managed to close time around the people here; suspend them individually.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Marius asked.

“I can’t freeze time.” Shori said. “That magic is really complex. But I do know how to reverse spells; I might be able to unfreeze people that way, if I go to all of them individually. I think.”

“That would be good.” Fuma said. “Safer. We could empty this museum out, tell people to go to the nearest police station.” 

Shori nodded in agreement and approached the people closest to them; a couple holding hands, the girl leaning on her boyfriend and smiling, both of them in heavy coats. Their hands were touching, fingers looked to be in the process of tangling together, and all of it was unnerving, how still the two of them were.

“I’ll do it slowly.” Shori said. “So he doesn’t… I don’t know, freak out.” 

He did a strange hand motion, mumbling something to himself before reaching up and touching the boyfriend’s forehead. At first, it looked as though nothing was happening, Fuma about to say something when the man’s whole body leaned a bit from a slight shift in balance, and his chest began to move in exhalation. Then Marius’s voice, high and sharp in panic. 

“Shori, Shori, his neck--” 

The man had black lines crawling up under his scarf like veins. They were dark and deep, just under his skin, not faded and washed out like the lines they’d seen on the woman they’d investigated who had died in her apartment. But it was undoubtedly the same curse, Fuma’s eyes going over the girlfriend’s body in search of a curse mark. After a moment, he found it; a black streak going up the side of her left pinky finger. 

Shori, in a rush of more mutterings and gesturing, touched the man’s forehead again, trying to undo the magic he’d just performed. Fuma couldn't help holding his breath. The black lines, now up to the base of his chin, had stopped moving. Shori had frozen him again. It wasn’t until a minute had passed that Fuma deemed it safe to take a step back. 

“Okay, never mind. Maybe that’s a bad idea.” 

“We could still help the individuals.” Marius suggested. “Tell them to go to the nearest police station. Tell them not to touch anyone.” 

So that was what they did, and Fuma wasn’t sure what it was that conveyed more the seriousness of the situation; their badges or their slightly desperate tone of voice, but after a half-hour sweep of the building they managed to evacuate over twenty people, and hadn’t seen the witch anywhere.

“Where--?” Marius started, when an almost-lazy voice floated through a door on their right. It was a room they’d already looked in and found empty, the realization that they’d been tricked and so easily evaded sending a jolt of adrenaline up Fuma’s spine.

“I’m tired.” It was her, Fuma’s hand going immediately to the gun on his hip. “Stop sneaking around. Find me already. I want to talk.” 

They all glanced around at each other, confirming their status as ready to move in, Marius shuffling so close to Shori that their shoulders were almost touching. After nodding around at each other, Shori led the way through the doorway. 

An ancient vase--obviously a piece of art on display--flew at them before they passed fully through the threshold. It hit Shori’s shield and fell to the floor, cracking in half. They stepped over it together, though Fuma saw Shori wince at the damage. Then they were inside, Fuma feeling his pulse spike as soon as he laid eyes on the witch. 

She was hunched in on herself, curled up against the far wall like a cat. Her hands were pulled up to her chest, her fingers clenching and unclenching, her long hair falling past her waist and eyes wide, her head looking too narrow on her too-long neck. 

“Oh?” She blinked. “No warning shots from our trigger-happy policeman?” 

“If me or my colleagues’ lives are threatened, I will not hesitate to shoot you again.” Fuma told her, and she pushed off the wall, taking a couple of steps forwards.

“So overdramatic.” She chastised, but the venom in her tone made the words much less playful than he thought maybe she intended. “You have no reason to be so afraid. You know that I don’t want to kill you. I just want to touch you. Whatever you do with yourself afterwards is entirely your choice.” 

“You are a serial killer.” He told her, and without warning, another piece from the art gallery flew at them. It was a giant brass bowl, thrown so hard and so fast that it was hard to dodge out of the way. Fuma jumped to the right while Shori darted left, Marius following closely behind him. Marius didn’t quite move fast enough, Shori waving an arm to redirect the bowl out the room’s open doorway, gritting his teeth with the strength it took. The bowl hit the frame of the door with an echoingly loud clang, ricocheting out into the room behind them. 

“I don’t want to fight anymore.” Her eyes met Fuma’s. “Just come here. I promise I don’t bite that hard.” 

Fuma pointed his gun at her. “We are here to take you into custody. Please place your hands on top of your head.”

“You aren’t going to win.” She told him, completely disregarding his instructions. “But if there has to be a struggle for you to see that, then fine.”

She began again to advance, but not towards Fuma; their group had split in two and she was heading towards Shori and Marius, backing them into a corner. 

“Stand down!” He yelled at her, letting loose a bullet from his gun. It barely grazed her arm, but she didn’t react as though it had touched her at all, continuing to advance. 

“The protections around your friends are much stronger than the ones you have around yourself.” She said, her voice curious, reaching a hand toward Shori. 

“Put your hands on your head!” Fuma shouted, his gun leveled. 

“Put away your weapon first.” She snapped at him. 

Fuma shot her again. This hit was more direct, hitting her left leg and causing it to buckle. 

“You don’t play fair.” She growled. “I don’t like that.” 

She thrust her hand down for Shori’s face, her fingers curling. Shori’s jaw clenched as he pushed back against her with the shields he had up, an invisible barrier between them that seemed very hard to project effectively; Shori began shrinking back, crouching down, trying to put physical distance between them as well in the small space he was trapped in. Fuma sent out another bullet, but this one she was able to deflect with a flick of her hand, the shot lodging into the museum wall instead. 

“Stop!” The shout rang out sharp from behind them, and it was the voice, not the words, that made Fuma turn around in shock. 

Kento was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and afraid, panting and looking frantic. He was watching Shori and the witch, though his gaze did flick to Fuma for a moment. 

A grin curled on the witch’s face, ultimately and completely pleased, so wide that it was unnatural, the expression dropping a heavy rock of dread into Fuma’s stomach. Because sure, the witch wanted to touch Fuma, but for reasons they didn’t know, it was Kento she was trying to kill. Fuma had thought she was doing it to spite him, to hurt him—yes, it seemed petty, but immortal beings could be violently petty upon being scorned—but that grin was telling of something else. Of Kento being the target all along. 

And Kento was supposed to die today. 

“Look who’s shown up!” She was almost giddy, her voice dripping with pleasure. 

“What are you doing here?” Fuma asked, completely dumbfounded, fear crawling its way up his throat. “What are you—why—?”

Kento’s face was set with resolution. “If today is my last day, I want to spend it with you.” 

“But—” Fuma began, completely overrun when the witch began to speak. 

“I was upset that I might not get to see what happened to you, but now I can. How kind you are to come.” 

She was walking toward Kento, and behind her Shori and Marius were getting away, moving from their trapped position in the corner, Shori drawing his knife from his pocket and unsheathing it. 

“What do you mean?” Kento asked. His hands were still shaking, despite being curled into fists. “What are you talking about?” 

“The plan seemed infeasible, but when the pieces fell into place, I was more than happy to play along.” She said. Fuma hoped Kento could keep her talking, because in looking at him, she was fixated. He took a small step towards Kento, hoping he could reach him, hoping he could find a way to get Kento out of the building. He’d carry him, if he had to. 

“Plan?”

“I needed you to die. I didn’t care how. Because you have devastated me. Your house was a place of death for my partner, because you had me distracted. And my revenge was interrupted.” Her eyes flicked to Fuma at those words, but if she noticed that he was now closer to Kento, she didn’t let on. “But I noticed his soul marks that day, and I knew things about you, and I thought that as a long stretch, this could work. I could always try more direct action another day. But here we all are.”

“I… I had you distracted?” Kento repeated faintly. “It was you, who attacked my family? You were trying to kill me then!” 

“I am trying to kill you.” Her voice had turned horribly sarcastic, her face twisting to something nasty and pained. “Then and now. Do try to keep up.”

She lunged forwards, and Fuma heard Marius scream his name, but he couldn’t react fast enough; the witch didn’t try for Kento, like Fuma expected. She was next to Fuma in a blink, reaching up and wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, jerking her arm in a way that picked him off his feet and sent him flying backwards. All Fuma had the wits to do was angle his loaded gun at the floor, so if something happened in the impact of hitting the wall, no one would get shot. He didn’t end up pulling the trigger, curling his shoulders and ducking his neck so his back hit the wall first, but the whiplash still had his head connecting hard with the wall behind him too, stars bursting behind his eyelids with the force of it.

She had touched him now; though he couldn’t see it, he was cursed, a large black hand print on the back of his neck, the imprint of her spindly fingers wrapped all the way around his throat. 

“Fuma—!” Kento began a shout of his name before stopping, his voice sounding choked, like he had somehow strangled himself into silence. Gripping at the wall, so dizzy he could barely manage it, Fuma tried hard to get to his feet, looking up at Kento. 

Kento was walking towards him, one hand outstretched, and there was a blankness behind his eyes that had the bottom falling from Fuma’s stomach. Kento was being possessed. Kento was going to try to touch him, to complete the curse. And if he did, then Fuma was going to kill him. 

“Stop.” Fuma didn’t have the energy to say anything else, his head still spinning from hitting the wall, feeling near-desperate. “Please.” 

The witch wasn’t looking at him; wasn’t listening to him. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Kento’s head. Fuma sent a desperate look to Shori and Marius, but they were on the move. Shori had his knife close to his mouth, his lips moving quickly against the blade, while Marius had drawn the gun from Shori’s holster. They were edging against the back wall, trying to get close to the witch without catching her attention. 

Fuma tried to back away, tried to put some space between himself and Kento, but he was shaky and aching from hitting the wall so hard, tripping over himself on the first step and nearly falling down again, knowing that if he fell, he would not have the coordination to pick himself up. So instead he raised his gun, aiming it at one of Kento’s legs. 

_ Just shoot him.  _ Hurting Kento in any way was something he couldn’t imagine, especially not a wound like this, a wound this bad.  _ It won’t be lethal. It’ll just keep him from walking; it’ll stop him from getting any closer. _

The attempt at persuasion wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t helping in the slightest. He couldn't make himself do it. He couldn’t take his eyes off Kento’s face. There were tears welling up in Kento’s eyes. 

Then a lot of things happened all at once. 

A gunshot went off. The witch let out a shriek, the sound piercingly loud in Fuma’s ears as Kento’s fingertips brushed his cheek. The touch was soft and light, but Kento’s fingers were already cold, and Fuma’s stomach clenched so hard that he felt sick with the pain of it. 

The witch fell to the floor behind them, curses falling from her lips, her words slurring together before stopping. Between the point blank bullet from Marius and Shori’s blade--the knife doubtlessly cursed, so heavily so in that moment that there was a black aura surrounding the metal--she was dying, but so was Kento. The black veins had already started crawling up his neck, and the fingertips he’d used to touch Fuma were red, bright as blood. 

“I don’t feel good.” He murmured, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before his entire body swayed, overbalancing to his right and beginning to fall. Fuma rushed to him, knowing he couldn’t do much more damage now, landing hard on his knees to catch Kento in his arms.

“We need to get out of this room!” Marius exclaimed at them, shoving the gun in his waistband and hurrying over. “The curses Shori put on his blade are like… Super strong and really bad. We need to get out of here.” 

Marius helped pick Kento up, and with his arms around their shoulders, Fuma and Marius started for the door. The witch shrieked after them, the sound long and wailing, and with it came a burst of silver light, flying at them faster than any of them could react and hitting Kento square in the back, so hard that he fell forwards. And Fuma was glad then, for Marius’s help, because he almost dropped Kento a second later; his left arm, the arm bearing his soul marks, was burning so fiercely that he thought for a wild moment that it had caught fire. He had to stop, had to pull his arm in and pull his sleeve back, looking down at the marks. 

The first two were unchanged. The last one though, was different, completely different--it had jumped forward into the future, had gone up nearly seven decades. The longevity of Kento’s soul, the part of him that had been stolen, was returned as the witch died; he wasn’t supposed to die today. But the curse had traveled up past his chin, outlining his lips and continuing up his face. He was dying anyway. 

Fuma replaced Kento’s arm around his shoulders, wrapping one of his arms around Kento’s waist and pressing his free hand to Kento’s chest, partially to help keep him upright and partially to feel his heartbeat, to feel the movement of his breath through his lungs, breathing that had become laboured and rough. Help was on its way, he told himself. Shori had called for backup, and with that backup would come emergency medical personnel. Someone would know what to do. Someone would be able to save Kento. 

The next room they entered had Sou in it. He was standing there anxiously, chewing on the tips of his fingers with his face screwed up in nerves, and when he saw them his face turned to one of horror, beginning to run to them, just as Kento’s knees gave out. Fuma’s own legs buckled in an attempt to keep him on his feet, and under his palm, Fuma felt Kento’s heart stop. 

“Help.” Was all Fuma could say, and together they laid Kento on the floor. Kento’s eyes were closed, his skin pallid, the black lines having traveled all the way up his face and disappeared under his eyelids. He was still, so still and limp, the sight of him bringing a painful lump to Fuma’s throat so fast that it nearly took his breath away. Shori was looking down at Kento in surprise, his expression suggesting that he might be sick, while Marius’s eyes were bright with tears, his hands over his mouth.

But thankfully--miraculously--Sou didn’t freeze. He dropped to his knees next to Kento’s body and began trying to get his shirt open, and despite the surety in his movements, his voice shook as he spoke.

“Was he supposed to die today?”

“What?” Fuma gasped out, crouching next to Sou, the question not making much sense with how impossible it felt to even think. 

“His death date. He’s your soulmate, right? So is it today?” 

Sou’s hands were fumbling with the buttons on Kento’s shirt; he only had two of them open, so Fuma reached down to help, ripping at the fabric, popping the buttons completely off. For the most part, the skin underneath looked normal, smooth and pale, but the part of Kento’s chest that housed his heart was covered with an ugly black stain, and looked to be the source of the dark curse lines that criss-crossed over his collarbones and traveled up his neck. 

“No.” Fuma managed out, because the date was different, it had changed. Kento was supposed to have years and years ahead of him now.

“Then I might be able to do something. His soul might not have completely left his body yet. Does someone have a knife?” 

Shori’s knife still seemed much too cursed to be used on a human being, so Maruis offered up his own. Without hesitation or explanation, Sou drove the point of the blade into Kento’s right arm, making a two inch cut that began bleeding openly. Sou slicked up both of his hands, his palms red and sticky, pulling up the left sleeve of Kento’s shirt. 

Kento had soul marks now. Along with his soul, the identifying marks of that soul had also been restored, returned to him when the witch was dead. Fuma’s birthday-- _ 07031995 _ \--was now written on the inside of Kento’s wrist. The middle date matched the one on Fuma’s own arm, and the death date under his elbow was remarkably close to the new one Fuma had. Seeing all of it, taking in the sight of his own birth date on the lifeless arm of his soulmate, laying blackened and still on the ground, had a scream building inside Fuma’s chest, kept at bay only by how hard his teeth were keeping themselves clenched.

Sou pressed a bloody palm to Kento’s soul marks, leaving a red smear behind. His movements were sure and fast as he then touched Fuma’s soul marks, Kento’s chest--right on the black mess over his heart--and then Kento’s forehead. Then he went still, his eyes closed, his hands shaking. Fuma was about to say something, about to ask a question when Sou’s right arm darted up, closing around something near his head. The object was invisible in the air, but when Sou clenched his fingers around it, his whole hand began to glow. 

“I have it.” Sou reported, his voice shaking worse now. 

“You have…?” Marius’s voice was hesitant, like he knew what Sou meant but didn’t quite believe it. “That’s…?” 

“His soul. Yeah. Since he just died, and he wasn’t supposed to, the body could still receive it back without any adverse effects.” Sou used his free hand to hold tight to the cut he’d made on Kento’s arm, trying to apply some pressure to stop the bleeding. “It’ll stay as long as I can hold onto it, but…” 

Sou’s hand was shaking, and Fuma could see that it wasn’t from the stress of the situation, but from how hard it was to hold onto something so intangible. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Fuma asked, his voice sounding strangled to his ears with how hard it was to get the words past the lump in his throat. 

“I’ve never actually done this before.” Sou confessed, his voice climbing in both pitch and panic. “I’ve only ever seen an instructional video, I don’t actually know how to… How to put it back.” 

“Help is coming.” Shori said, and as he spoke, sirens began to sound in the distance. He looked like he desperately wanted to help, but didn’t know how. “Just hold on, okay?” 

They all waited and listened to the sirens getting closer, Fuma letting himself kneel next to Kento’s head, wanting to touch him, but not trusting himself not to make anything worse. It wasn’t right for Kento to look like this, so discolored and uncomfortable and unnatural, and the pain in Fuma’s chest won out, tears running down his cheeks. 

Paramedics burst in, Shori calling out and beckoning them over instantly. They surrounded Sou and Kento, Fuma getting up and moving out of the way. Marius came up to him and wrapped an arm around him, Fuma letting him do it, leaning in to the embrace, trying desperately to stop crying and finding himself completely unable to. 

After a couple of minutes, Sou was extricated from the situation. His hands were still bloody and he also was crying, going straight to Shori and getting wrapped up in an embrace. Shori whispered reassurances to him and pressed kisses into his hair, rubbing his back and letting him cry. 

Around them, the museum was being evacuated. Rooms were busy with unfreezing spells and curse reversal charms, ambulances arriving in droves to carry all people struck with the curse to the hospital for evaluation. After a warning from Shori, the room containing the witch’s body was sealed closed until the general public were moved out, a special team needed to go into the room for evaluating, recording, and cleansing. Fuma noticed none of this, fixated only on the paramedics around Kento’s body, on how Kento still hadn’t moved, on how his eyes were still closed. 

Then they opened. They opened, glancing around at the unfamiliar faces, and then Kento began trying to sit up, causing a bit of a fuss as the paramedics tried to keep him still. Fuma choked out a gasp, trying to run to him, stopped by Shori grabbing hard to his shoulder. 

“You still have the mark on you.” He said. “It’s not safe. Don’t--don’t touch him yet.” 

Fuma looked to Kento, and now Kento was looking back. But Fuma knew Shori was right, letting the paramedics take Kento away, standing with Marius in wait to also be evaluated. He was consequently sent to the hospital as well, where he was able to get the curse removed, also being diagnosed with a concussion, a possible skull fracture, and a significant amount of bruising to his spine. A CT scan was insisted on, but thankfully he didn’t show up with any dangerous swelling to his brain, and after being prescribed pain medication, he was cleared to be discharged. 

By the time he was able to get to his phone again, he had a text message from Marius in his inbox with Kento’s hospital room number. He made his way straight there, wanting to see Kento, opening the door to Kento lying in the bed and hooked up to vitals, Marius on the chair next to him. They’d been talking, stopping when Fuma walked in, Kento meeting his eyes and smiling. Fuma had to just look at him, just take him in, sitting up with warmth in his cheeks and light in his eyes. 

“Hey.” Kento’s voice was a bit soft, interrupting Fuma’s train of thought. They met eyes again, and the grin on Kento’s face grew, his tone turning a bit more teasing. “If you aren’t on top of me in the next five seconds, I’m breaking up with you.”

Fuma couldn’t help but laugh, beginning his walk over. Marius got up and excused himself, but Fuma didn’t much notice. 

“I don’t know, that might not be safe.”

“You don’t want to test the limits of this heart monitor?” 

“You’re awful.” Fuma told him, and Kento began to laugh. 

“The doctors say I’m perfectly healthy.” Kento informed him, and Fuma could tell that this statement, at least, was genuine. “I mean, I’ve got that cut on my arm, and my chest does hurt--apparently getting your soul shoved back into your body doesn’t feel great--but other than that, I really am fine. They just want to keep me overnight for observation because I died like, two hours ago.”

“Oh, is that all?” Fuma asked. He sat on the edge of Kento’s bed, Kento scooting to the side to give him more room. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about your safety, I was talking about mine. I have a traumatic brain injury.”

“Wait, really?” 

“Concussion.” Fuma said with a nod. Kento’s expression turned sympathetic, moving an arm as though reaching up to touch Fuma before thinking better of it. The reluctance to touch him made Fuma’s chest sting a little, making him think back to what happened last time Kento’s fingers made contact with his skin, but instead Kento moved even farther to one side of the bed, gesturing to the empty space in invitation. So Fuma took it, lying down next to him, and then Kento pushed close, burrowing himself into Fuma’s chest, settling himself there as much as he could. Fuma laughed a little, wrapping Kento in his arms, his smile impossible to hold in as Kento pressed a couple of kisses to his neck. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” Fuma said, after a couple of moments. “Coming to the museum was really stupid.” 

“I’m clingy. Sorry if that’s a deal breaker.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, you know.” Kento’s tone was a bit pouty, but it was more genuine when he spoke again. “It was helpful, anyway. I was a good distraction. Shori and Marius might not have been able to get to her if it hadn’t been for me.” 

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely crazy.”

“Yeah, well, love makes you crazy, right? Isn’t that the phrase?” 

“I mean, it’s--if--only if you’re in love.” Fuma said, Kento giving a little contemplative hum.

“Sounds about right, then.” 

  
  


It took almost a full week for the black curse mark around Fuma’s neck to fade away completely. Fuma, Shori, and Marius were all granted two weeks of time off by their superior officer to recuperate once the case was closed, and they all took it gratefully. Fuma spent a majority of his time between his apartment and Kento’s. It was odd for him, to want to be around another person so much; he usually liked his alone time, or at least he thought he did, but was coming to find that maybe, he’d just gotten used to being lonely. He left his house in short sleeves for the first time in ten years, his eyes catching on his changed soul marks.

Kento had a hard time adjusting to his soul marks, too. He wasn’t used to having them at all, becoming distracted by them constantly; Fuma often saw him just staring at them. 

“It’s like I got a tattoo or something.” He said, laughing a little. “I love them. I love them so much.” 

Tattoos were a common topic of discussion, too; Marius was set to get his anti-possession tattoo. Fuma had helped him make the appointment, sending Marius to the same studio where he’d gotten his and even offering to pay for it. Fuma’s cell phone woke him up the morning of Marius’s tattoo appointment, Fuma groaning and rolling over under the sheets, struggling to grab the device from where he’d left it on Kento’s bedside table. 

“What do you want?” He grumbled. His voice woke Kento, who rolled closer to him under the sheets before also opening his eyes. 

“Who is it?” Kento asked, Fuma putting the call on speaker phone in answer. Marius’s voice carried loud through the receiver.

“Where are you?”

“What?” 

“Aren’t you going to come to my appointment with me?”

“I never said I would do that.” Fuma said. “Isn’t Sou there with you? He agreed to go, right?”

“But I need you to be here. To scare me into not chickening out.” 

“Why would you chicken out?”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt.” 

Marius did have a bit of a point. Magical tattoos were rather painful. 

“Hey, Marius. You know what else hurts?” Fuma asked him. “Getting stabbed.” 

Kento burst out laughing at that, and Fuma could hear Sou laughing too from somewhere behind Marius. 

“But I want you to come.” Marius said again, sounding a bit like a petulant child. “I know that you care about me. Kento told me so. So you should come.” 

“Listen. It won’t be so bad, really. You don’t even need to get all of the ones that I have. The anti-possession one isn’t that big; it won’t take very long.”

“But you should get all of them.” Kento chimed in, leaning close for his voice to make it into the receiver and running a hand over Fuma’s bare, inked-up shoulder. “They’re sexy.” 

“Kento?” Marius asked, then, his voice a little more affronted, “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re in bed.” Fuma supplied, just because it would make Marius squawk.

“Yeah, you interrupted us.” Kento said, for what was probably the same reason. And squawk Marius did, telling them they were being gross, reminding them that his appointment was in an hour and a half, and hanging up. Kento was looking self-satisfied, and Fuma began to laugh a little. 

“Good morning.” He said first, then, “You’re awful.”

“You know you like it.” Kento answered, giving him a quick kiss.

“But he didn’t interrupt anything, he just woke us up.”

“Oh, he didn’t? It must have been a dream I was having, then.” 

Fuma laughed again, pulling Kento down for another, longer kiss. He’d been a bit worried about moving too fast, always leaving Kento’s apartment before the last train ran; this was his first time actually spending the night here, actually waking up next to Kento, and he couldn’t believe how much he loved it.

“What was that Marius said?” Fuma asked, Kento raising his eyebrows in interest. “That he knew I cared about him, because you said so?”

“Oh, I just told him what you said that night we spent together at the precinct.” Kento answered with a shrug. “That you liked him, and that you’d give your life for him. That stuff.” 

“I told you that in confidence!” Fuma protested, while Kento began to laugh. “I have a reputation, you know.” 

“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad.” Kento said, his voice teasing as he raised himself up to look down at Fuma, the bed sheets falling to his waist. “It’s good to say every once and awhile. People like knowing that they’re loved.” 

Kento was beautiful in the morning light, with a smile on his lips, his expression unguarded, his hair soft and mussed up from sleep. The sight of him, paired with the words from his mouth and the way he was looking at Fuma now, had an ache in Fuma’s chest, a hurt that he felt in the best possible way. He reached up for Kento, pulling him in to kiss him again, glad that he hadn’t made any promises about actually coming to Marius’s tattoo appointment, because he felt he might miss it. Or at least, be a little late.


End file.
